


Chasing Poppies: One-Shots

by mela1223



Category: Midnight Poppy Land (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Multi, One Shot, Romance, Side Story, extension of plot???
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:33:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28680405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mela1223/pseuds/mela1223
Summary: A series of one-shots that follow the supporting characters in my fic Chasing Poppies. Not necessary to read these in order to follow the main story. Just stupid, fun things / also, I guess...not-so-fun things now???
Relationships: Quincey Balthuman/Cordelia (Midnight Poppy Land)/Other(s), Tora/Poppy Wilkes
Comments: 93
Kudos: 81





	1. Quincey to the rescue

**Author's Note:**

> This one-shot follows Quincey, who has just received a text from Tora—the tiger’s car got towed and he needs a ride to the impound lot. What will Quincey discover?
> 
> As always, characters belong to the real MVP Lilydusk, brilliant creator of Midnight Poppy Land. Support her on Patreon! https://www.patreon.com/lilydusk

**Chasing Poppies One-Shot: Quincy (one-shot accompanies ch. 8: Kith. in Chasing Poppies)**

Quincey’s leg wobbled in the air as he tried to extend it further back, shaking slightly as he attempted to keep his spine aligned, two palms and one foot planted on the mat he’d laid out in front of his living room’s large penthouse windows. _Ugh_ , he thought, _shouldn’t have taken that week off in Aspen_. His balance was awful now. He wavered dangerously, the foot in the air threatening to kick over the designer lamp next to his couch that he’d just received in the mail. Quincey wasn’t sure if he liked it in that corner yet, but if he accidentally broke it, he’d probably never know—the thing had been on backorder for _months_. He’d been worried it wouldn’t arrive before he decided to redecorate the room. 

Deciding to play it safe, he picked himself off the floor, dragging the yoga mat closer to the center of the room when he heard his phone buzz from the coffee table. He darted over to it, trying to convince himself he wasn’t grateful for the distraction. _Oh, boo boo!_ he thought excitedly when he saw who had texted him. Maybe he could convince Tora to come over that night to beta-read. The pages of his latest manuscript-in-progress lay scattered across the couch cushions, the table, the carpet—he’d even left some strewn across the kitchen counters. He rolled his eyes, already imagining what the tiger would say when he’d step through the front door later that night, huffing as he’d gather the papers into a mess of pile, _fuck’s sake, Quince. Use ya fuckin’ office_.

 _Pfft, pfft,_ the man was a grump, plain and simple. He needed to get laid. Though his brother had never introduced him to any romantic interests, he knew the man had had his fair share of one-night stands. Still…he wondered if his older brother was still holding out for strawberry girl. But that’d been so long ago, _and_ in a town well outside the city, no less. It’s not like Quincey hadn’t tried to track her down, but, really, Tora hadn’t given him much to go off of—a brief description of someone who’d be about ten years older by now and—to be fair, Quincey thought—a pretty exact location. Still, Tora didn’t know about Operation Strawberry, and he planned to keep it that way. He swiped up to unlock the message as his phone scanned his face. Quincey grinned.

@Tiger 🐅: need a favor. i’ll swing by tonight

His thumbs flew across the screen as he swiped a message back. This was good, very good.

@Quincey: Good, you can help me with this new chapter. The colonists need a meet-cute but I can’t for the life of me get it right. Could use your ~guidance~

He chuckled, imagining Tora’s expression when he’d read the text. He glanced around the apartment. Should probably tidy up if he wanted a chance at getting helpful feedback. If Tora were in a mood—which he usually was—the mess would only make it worse. The man would probably just sulk, playing games on his phone while he chain-smoked. _Ugh_ , that reminded him, he needed to call the cleaners again. Getting Tora’s cigarette smoke out of the upholstery on the weekly was absolutely necessary to keep the smell out of Quincey’s clothes.

After he’d finished collecting bits of the manuscript from around the apartment, he headed to the kitchen. Might as well keep going—the tidier he could make it, the happier Tora would be. Or at least, the less annoyed he’d be, which was a win in Quincey’s book. His phone buzzed in his pocket as he finished rinsing out the last of the wine glasses, quickly drying his hands off and pulling it out to unlock the message.

@Tiger 🐅: car got towed. pick me up at Starbucks on 3rd. need a ride to the impound lot

Quincey sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. This was going to ruin his chances of getting any kind of helpful notes from Tora, and his mood would be a dark raincloud for the next couple days if past experience held true. The man was always getting towed. As he was about to respond, another text came through.

@Tiger 🐅: nothin flashy. take the beater.

 _Tch_. That old thing? Quincey rolled his eyes as he typed his reply, already walking to grab his keys from the wall beside the front door.

@Quincey: Weird favor but okay. Be there in a jiff.

His fingers swiped at the spot on the wall where his keys should be as he reached for his sunglasses on the console, phone still in hand. _Huh._ He glanced around. _Where were they?_ Thinking maybe he’d left the old car’s keys in a jacket, he doubled back into the penthouse, striding down the hall to the master bedroom where he searched the ensemble he’d tossed on the ottoman after getting home the night before. _Hmm_. Though he found the keys to the new car, he didn’t find the set for the one Tora’d requested. He did a quick scan of the room before he remembered: he’d left them in the center console of the Ferrari when he’d switched cars to go pick up Cordy.

This whole sneaking around thing was a drag. Hot in romance, annoying in working with Gyu behind Tora’s back. He just wanted Tora to be happy, was that so bad?

He left the penthouse, locking the door behind him as he made his way to the private portion of the underground garage beneath the building. His phone rang just as he approached the cars and he immediately picked up, seeing the tiger flash across the screen.

“I know, I know,” he said, unlocking the Ferrari with the fob and opening the door to grab the keys from the center console. “Just found the keys, honey, calm down. I’m out the door now.”

“Quince,” Tora growled, his voice crackling a bit from the poor connection, “not the Ferrari—take the fuckin’ beater.”

Quincey rolled his eyes, Tora hardly ever trusted him to follow through. It’d been that way ever since they were kids. But he was determined to prove him wrong: he was an _incredibly_ attentive best friend-slash-brother…just as soon as he heard back from Gyu…their most recent lead had been quite promising. “Hush, don’t worry—I’ll be there in a sec.” He hung up, quickly pulling up the Starbucks app. Might as well order something if he was going anyway. He tucked the phone into his back pocket once he’d placed his usual, climbing into the dirty old car parked a couple spots away from his colorful selection of sports cars. “Bye, babies,” he waved out the window at the cars, “be back soon.”

Sometimes he wondered if he should get a cat. _What if he named it Tiger_ , Quincey chuckled to himself, _wouldn’t that be a hoot_. He smirked, picturing Tora’s face at meeting the thing, as he pulled out of the lot and onto the street—making sure to check both ways and all his mirrors. Wait—did he need to check his mirrors for a left turn? Tora had schooled him more times than he could count in an effort to encourage Quincey to drive himself around. He shrugged, _better safe than sorry_ , as his brother liked to say. He rolled his eyes as he pulled up along the block before the Starbucks, carefully pulling up against the edge of the curb, if a bit slowly. “Better safe…than…sorry,” he muttered to himself as he leaned forward in the seat, peering up over the edge of the hood to see if he was close enough to the curb. Yeah, looked about right. He’d parked opposite a drugstore—the spot wasn’t as close to the coffee shop as he would’ve liked, he’d need to cross the street and walk another half block to get there, but there wasn’t much he could do about that.

He quickly stepped out of the car and headed to the corner of the intersection, noticing a short woman sprint across the street away from the Starbucks. He glanced down at his phone, waiting for the pedestrian light to turn. He supposed _he_ could also jaywalk, but his horoscope had warned him against taking uncalculated risks today. Best avoid tempting fate.

“Quincey!” Madeline, his favorite barista, waved at him from behind the counter as he entered the shop. “Just finishing yours, should be up in a sec,” she called over the sound of the frother as Jay prepared another customer’s drink.

“You’re a doll,” Quincey smiled, walking over to lean against the counter by the pick-up area.He glanced out the window just as he was about to start up some small talk when he noticed Tora across the street. _Huh_. He squinted past the stickers adorning the inside of the Starbucks windows. _Was his brother…holding someone’s hand?_

“Hey, Quincey,” Jay smiled at him as he poured steaming liquid into a takeaway cup and placed it on the counter in front of him. “Cordy with you?”

Quincey shifted at the counter, trying to get a better look across the street, “no, sadly she’s holed up at her firm preparing for a big case…” He spared a brief smile as Madeline placed his latte down on the counter beside the other cup. “Thanks, hun,” he placed a twenty on the counter picking up his drink and making his way back to the front door, “lovely seeing you all…” he trailed off over his shoulder, eyes still fixed on his brother’s large figure as he pushed the door open.

He heard, as though from a great distance, Madeline call after him, “Oh, Quincey, that’s not—” before the door shut behind him. He strode over to the closest table on the sidewalk, sitting down carefully as he watched his brother across the street. He was, indeed, holding a woman’s hand, towering over her as he leaned against the door to the building which he held open for them. She was really quite pretty, and _very_ curvy, he could tell. Was she Tora’s type? Did Tora _have_ a type? How did he not know? But more importantly, how had he not known about _this_?!

Quincey took a sip of his drink, eyes still glued to the scene before him. _Ugh, the hell was that?_ He put the drink back down on the table—definitely not his latte. Must’ve grabbed the wrong one, but good God was it worth it. He gasped as the woman all of a sudden beamed up at him like a little ball of light before she reached up toward his collar, fisting her hand in his shirt as she pulled Tora’s lips to hers.

Quincey felt his mouth drop open, watching as his brother melted against this tiny woman, his free hand holding her waist. He quickly unlocked his phone, grateful it still recognized his face despite what he knew was a very different expression than what he usually wore, and snapped a picture. Several pictures. He took a burst of photos, determined to capture every second of what was happening across the street. Should he take a video?

Before he could switch to the recording mode, he watched as the woman pulled away from Tora, and they exchanged some words. Quincey opened up his conversation with Gyu and attached the burst of images, hesitating for a millisecond before hitting send. This would affect their plans. Operation Strawberry would need to adapt to this new development. Gyu wrote back immediately.

@Gyu-bear 🐻: who’s that?

@Gyu-bear 🐻: wait. IS THAT BIG BRO

@Gyu-bear 🐻: WHO’S THE CUTIE

Quincey chuckled as he looked back up across the street. His grump of a brother was standing by himself staring into an empty lobby, holding the door open. Where had the woman gone?

He quickly pulled up Tora’s conversation, ready to poke the tiger. Oh, this was going to be good. He’d _definitely_ be milking this for all it was worth.

Quincey attached one of the images and hit send. He watched as Tora turned from the door, pulling out his phone before his body visibly stiffened. His head shot up and whipped back and forth down the street before his amber eyes, blazing with anger, found his brother’s. Quincey grinned.


	2. Elevator? Elevator!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Wednesday morning and Mr. Rose is late for the meeting at Giant Goldfish. What shenanigans will Erdene and Jacob get up to as they wait for Poppy to return from her coffee run across the street?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh heh this was a fun bit of nonsense to write 
> 
> This one-shot takes place chronologically at the very end of chapter 8 of my fic Chasing Poppies and leads directly into chapter 9, though does not contain spoilers for 9. Not necessary to read this in order to understand the main story. I’m just enjoying playing with these characters and trying to get more comfy writing in 3rd person limited (I’m v much a 1st person gal) 😁 this one helped me get in the right headspace for the opening of chapter 9.
> 
> As always, characters belong to the real MVP Lilydusk, brilliant creator of Midnight Poppy Land. Support her on Patreon! https://www.patreon.com/lilydusk

**Chasing Poppies One-Shot: Erdene & Jacob (CP between ch. 8 & 9)**

“Jacob, my guy,” Erdene kicked her feet up onto Poppy’s desk where she was watching Jacob pace back and forth between the copier and his own workspace, a tablet balanced on her thighs as she squinted at their next issue’s cover design, “I’m really gonna need you to calm down.” She didn’t look up as Jacob slammed a pile of papers down onto the floor beside his mini wastebin, instead just rolling her eyes as she used the digital pencil to shade in a gradient in the corner of the design. “Hey,” she called over to him as he reshuffled his presentation materials for the ninth time since she’d gotten back from the drugstore, “what do you think,” she held up the tablet, zoomed in on the corner of the design where she’d just adjusted the shading. “Seventy-two percent opacity,” she tapped an icon with her long index nail, “or sixty-nine?”

Jacob squinted over at her, “Dene, you know I can’t see for shit. How the hell am I supposed to judge that from over here?” he shook his head at her, frowning with one hand flung to his side, palm face-up, and bringing his shoulders sharply to his ears as if to say, _come on!_

She rolled her eyes again, sighing deeply, semi-annoyed he hadn’t taken the bait. “Honestly, Jake, take a fucking chill pill,” she grabbed a bottle of CBD tablets off Poppy’s desk from the stash she kept beside her computer and chucked them across the room. Her co-worker ducked, but not quite in time, the bottle glancing off the side of his glasses. “Mr. Rose. Has been delayed,” she said in a sing-song rhythm paired with a no-nonsense tone as she clapped four times through the sentence. “No need to get worked up before you even have a reason to be.”

Jacob bent over to retrieve the bottle from under his desk, accidentally hitting his head on his way back up, “goddammit, Erdene,” he griped. “Could you be, like, a skosh more supportive?” he said as he popped the cap off the bottle, “it’s the whole reason I called you back early anyway.”

“Yeah, and look what good that did,” she muttered, widening her eyes at her tablet as she continued to toggle options on the corner of the design. She sighed, glancing up at the nervous sounds coming from his workspace. He needed a distraction, she realized. Their client from the States had been delayed indefinitely and with each passing minute Jacob had spiraled further and further into what Erdene worried might become an anxiety attack. “Hey, d’you hear about all those politicians that got busted the other day?” she called across the walkway between the desks, hearing that Jacob was once again ruffling around the folders he’d already meticulously prepared a week in advance and re-organized several times just that morning.

“Yeah. They kinda deserve it, though.”

“Mmmm,” she hummed her agreement, bobbing her head. “I’m dying to know the source, though, you know?”

Her phone buzzed and Erdene leaned forward with a soft grunt, pressing the tablet to her stomach to reach across the desk. She smiled to herself, biting her lip as she unlocked her phone.

@Damien Bumble: found another you’ll like

Her lips parted around her smile at the link he’d sent.

@Erdene: My place, 8

She watched as three dots immediately appeared, bringing a nail to run along her bottom teeth.

@Damien Bumble: yes ma’am

Jacob moaned from across the room.

Erdene looked over at him, leaning forward to put her phone back down as she removed her feet from the desk, and setting the tablet aside. “Hey, Jake? It’s gonna be okay.” She hurried over to his desk where he was kneeling on the floor, arms folded on the desk in front of him as he buried his head between his elbows.

“Dene, I’m gonna fuck this all up,” he said. “Gil told me in confidence that Rose is in negotiations to get a comedy produced about the same material—what if he goes with that instead of the memoir?”

“Jake,” she leaned over him, alternating between rubbing circles and patting gently between his shoulder blades, “that shit is out of your control. If they decide to go with TV, then that’s their loss. It’s not reflective of who you are as an editor.” She crouched down next to him, keeping a palm against his back. He took a couple deep breaths. “Hey, why don’t we check on Pudge,” she said, pressing gently with her palm. “Bet he misses you.”

“They,” Jacob murmured from between his elbows. “We don’t know their gender.”

Erdene smiled softly, “bet they miss you.”

She waited a moment and Jacob slowly raised his head. His glasses had fogged over from rubbing against his bare arm.

“Think you need a wipe,” she said, reaching up to the corner of his desk where he kept a box of lens cleaner.

“Thanks,” he took the wipe from her, removing his glasses and swirling the moist towelette over his lenses.

“Hey,” she said, poking his shoulder, “can you read that?” she pointed at his coffee mug on the desk near his computer.

“I already know what it says.”

“But can you read it.”

“Okay, I’ve been thoroughly distracted,” he huffed, pulling himself up to stand as Erdene moved back to Poppy’s desk.

“Still gotta check on Pudge,” she said, waving him over to the window that overlooked the street below.

Jacob walked over to the window where Erdene had pulled up two chairs. He slumped down into the one beside her, peering at the pigeon on the other side of the glass. “Hey, Pudge,” he sighed.

“Jake, you’re gonna bring ‘em down with your sad boy vibes. Try again,” she nudged his arm.

He plastered a grin across his face, waving one palm toward the window in a cheery circle, “hey, Pudge!” he turned to look at Erdene with a look that said, _satisfied?_ but she was squinting out the window down to the street below. All of a sudden, she clutched his shoulder, standing abruptly and smacking a hand against the window. “HOLY SHIT, SHE JUST KISSED HIM!”

Jacob pulled back from her, but Erdene’s nails gripped his shoulder tightly, surprisingly strong for her bony stature. “Dene! You’re scaring Pudge,” he cried as the pigeon startled.

“JACOB. SHE JUST KISSED THAT MAN.”

“Who?”

She glanced over at him before tugging him up from the chair by his shirt to stand at the window. “Poppylan Wilkes, that’s who.”

“Huh?” Jacob peered down at the street. “Poppy’s not down there, what are you talking about?”

“She just went into Starbucks, but that man,” she pointed to a very large Greek god-looking man with long dark hair, “she just kissed him.”

“Green shirt?”

“Ooooh,” Erdene’s eyes lit up in recognition, leaning closer to the glass, “I’d recognize that fuckable stallion anywhere.”

“Jesus, Dene. Always so thirsty,” Jacob sized the man up. He stood facing their office building, his broad back to the Starbucks window with one hand in his front pocket and one holding a phone to his ear. Even from across the street, they could clearly see the bulge of his muscles beneath his shirt as he moved.

“I know what I want. Nothing wrong with that,” she said as she pressed her forehead against the glass. “Shit, I wanna go down there, but I also don’t wanna miss a single thing.”

“We could FaceTime?” he offered, “I stay up here, and you go downstairs?” They watched in silence as the man put his phone back in his pocket, walking towards the bushes further from the door, folding his arms across his chest. “They should make a TV show about _this_ ,” Jacob said absently.

“Hmm,” Erdene seemed to consider Jacob’s video call suggestion. She watched as a group of women had gathered on the other side of the window from where the man stood outside, openly ogling him through the glass. It wasn’t lost on her that she and Jacob were doing the same thing. As she was about to point this out to Jacob, knowing he probably couldn’t see into the store, Poppy appeared on the other side of the door to the coffee shop, very slowly pushing open the door. They watched as the man turned to face her, moments before Poppy spotted him, running over to stand beside him. He reached as though to take a box that Poppy was holding, but she switched it to the hand furthest from him. Erdene’s eyes bugged and Jacob readjusted his glasses as they watched Poppy then take his hand in her free one. “Hooooooooooly…” Erdene breathed as Jacob moved to press his face to the window beside her, their exhales fogging the glass lightly from their gaping mouths.

“Oh my—” the two cried out as they watched their co-worker bolt across the middle of the street. It took the man just a fraction of a second to catch up to her. Jacob and Erdene watched as he reached out to grab her hand again.

“Was she running from him?” Jacob asked, bewildered. “We should go down th—”

“No, definitely not,” Erdene said as she watched her best friend swing the box gently, leading him up to the office building and out of view. “Just Pops being Pops,” she smiled softly before turning to look at Jacob with a wicked grin. “Elevator?”

“Elevator!”

They bolted across the office, nearly slamming against the door in their eagerness to head their friend off.

Erdene and Jacob stood in front of the metal doors, staring up at the digital floor tick. “You don’t think she took the stairs, right?” he asked. “I mean, Poppy hates stairs.”

“Shut up if you know what’s good for you,” Erdene snipped. If she heard another comment about Poppy’s weight, she was going to punch him. 

Jacob held his hands up in the air, pulling his mouth into a flat line as he raised his eyebrows. Erdene glanced at him in the reflection of the doors, rolling her eyes. Just as she was about to tell him to go back inside, the digital reader blinked from G to 1 as the elevator began to climb toward them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ngl Erdene and Damien got me 👀👀 you see that secret garden episode on Lily’s patreon????


	3. Operation Strawberry Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gyu sleuths and Quincey helps. They devise a plan to bring the Tiger of Ares Street some much-deserved happiness...but can they agree on who will make Big Bro happy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one-shot follows Gyu as he meets up with Quincey to discuss re-considering the plans they made on Tuesday night re: tracking down Strawberry Girl. Just some backstory that I'm using to help flesh out my plan for the first act of my main fic Chasing Poppies. 
> 
> As always, characters belong to the real MVP Lilydusk, brilliant creator of Midnight Poppy Land. Support her on Patreon! https://www.patreon.com/lilydusk

**Chasing Poppies One-Shot: Gyu Puts the Pieces Together / Operation Strawberry Girl**

Gyu watched from where he was sitting leaned back on the designer couch as Quincey inhaled deeply, holding the smoke in his lungs before he reached behind him to pass the joint back to the auburn-haired man. They’d been sitting in silence for several minutes, _wait_. Gyu glanced around him, rolling his head side to side on the back of the couch cushion—man, it really felt like a damn cloud. He loved hanging out at Quincey’s place. Man knew how to live.

Not seeing what he was looking for, he nudged the blonde man with his foot. “Hey, call my phone.”

“Hmm?” Quincey turned his head slowly, looking back over his shoulder at Gyu. He swiped his tongue across his top lip.

“My phone, can’t find it. Can you call it?”

“Sure, honey,” Quincey said, patting his hands on the floor around him. “Gyu-bear.”

“Yeah?”

“Can you text me?” he trailed off, pushing himself up from against the couch to lean over the coffee table. “I thought it was over here.” 

Gyu wheezed, “nah, Quince. I lost my phone. You need to call me.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone, tossing it to the other man, “here, you can use mine.” His throat felt incredibly dry. Every time he spoke, he sounded like he’d just swallowed several mouthfuls of sand. “Oh shit,” he laughed, pointing to his phone in Quincey’s hand. He was so tired. The back-to-back shifts were absolutely killing him and the pay was plain insulting.

Quincey looked down, confused. “No, Gyu, this is yours not mine.”

Gyu laughed harder, _shit, he really needed some water_. He sat up, pinching his phone from Quincey’s loose grip. “So, are we actually gonna do this, man?” Gyu walked over to the kitchen, grabbing a glass with some dried wine at the bottom. He ran it under the water, swirling the liquid round as it tinged pink before dumping it and refilling the glass. No use dirtying a clean one. He tossed the water back and it helped for a second, but the dry feeling just migrated further to where his nose met his throat. “Damn, Quince, where’d you get that shit?” He nodded toward the small bag of weed on the counter.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Quincey rolled himself up off the floor, joining Gyu on the other side of the counter that faced out over the living room.

Gyu sighed, “yeah, s’why I asked.”

“But then you’d never come over,” Quincey leaned down onto his elbows, resting his head on his forearms. “Wow, it’s late. Thought Tiger would be back by now.” Gyu heard him moan a yawn against the counter.

Gyu shook his head, “didn’t you say you gave him the night off?” He lowered his head, peering over at Quincey with a frown on his face, “I thought that was the whole point, man. So he wouldn’t walk in on us?” Gyu heard it as soon as he’d said it and he closed his eyes as Quincey’s shoulders shrugged up and down in silent laughter.

“…doin’ the dirty, _pfft, pfft_ ,” Quincey snorted.

Normally, he’d be laughing right along, but this was important. Gyu cracked his jaw a couple times, raising his eyebrows as he stretched the muscles in his face. “Quince, I really need to know—gotta request time off like a week in advance at the latest. And even that’s a pretty shitty move.” He’d know—Gyu hated it when coworkers called out without notice. Really messed with the team dynamic and usually meant everyone pulling extra long hours.

Quincey looked up at him, his eyebrows drawn together, pupils blown wide. His partly open mouth a silent question.

“Cause I got a real fuckin’ job, man. Multiple jobs, ‘member?” He watched as Quincey nodded. _Shit, he was a goner_. He brought a hand to his goatee, looking around at the empty penthouse, cast in shadow save for the bright kitchen light that sparkled off the mineral flecks in the white surfaces. “Mind if I crash here?”

Quincey swung his arm out, gesturing at the overlarge space behind him, giant windows overlooking downtown Narin. “Mi casa—”

“Got it,” Gyu walked by him, patting his friend on the shoulder. He never knew how it only took Quincey one or two hits at most to knock out. Lack of stress? He sat down on the couch, again pulling his phone out. _What had he wanted to look at? Oh right_. He unlocked his phone with the string of his alpha-numeric passcode—he’d never understood why the rest of the guys just used the four digits. Or worse, their thumbs. How many times had they known the big boss to request entire limbs just to gain access to locked devices? _Too many._ He sighed, opening up his photos and tapping the one that Big Bro had sent last Friday. He stared at the profile of the woman. _Shit, it really kinda did look like her_. He was almost positive.

Gyu had watched as she’d entered Chevy’s two nights ago. He’d paused his game of Mafia—it’d been slow before the rush—as she approached the bar. The woman was a sight for sore eyes, a real cutie. The smile she’d given him had his chest thumping audibly. He’d thought maybe he could get her number. _I’m Poppylan, but my friends call me Poppy_ , she’d said, and he couldn’t help but blush at the idea that she might already consider him her friend, sipping the daiquiri he’d whipped up for her, on the house. I mean, he hadn’t made her a free drink in exchange for anything—he could recognize the worried look of someone struggling to make ends meet anywhere, he himself being in the same position. He’d wondered what brought her into Chevy’s—the place was high-end… _well_. They _pretended_ to be high-end. All the prices were inflated and the décor was an in-your-face type of excess, but still, for someone who’d cringed at the prices on the drinks menu, he couldn’t imagine what made the lady decide to come. He’d thought she looked familiar then, but he couldn’t place her. Now, looking down at the photo Big Bro had sent last Friday… _it must be her_. There was really no other explanation as to why his giant, intimidating friend had acted so weird, glaring at Gyu like he was gonna take him out back and break his other leg just for getting her a damn water.

He pulled up the photos in the text chain that Quincey had sent him that morning.

@YM Balthuman: [photo burst]

@Gyu: who’s that?

@Gyu: wait. IS THAT BIG BRO

@Gyu: WHO’S THE CUTIE

He rolled his eyes at himself, why’d he always gotta do that? He sounded fucking desperate. It’d taken him a couple minutes to realize how strange it was that Big Bro had been flirting up two different women in two days after being unattached for so many years. As long as Gyu’d known him, at least. He scrolled down the messages, taking in the conversation that had transpired once he’d finally gotten ahold of Quincey.

@Gyu: wait, boss. I think I know her.

@Gyu: can’t see her face in any of them. you have more?

@Gyu: you get my last text?

@Gyu: boss, we should talk again re: OSG

@Gyu: need to change the plan

@YM Balthuman: [photo]

@YM Balthuman: ^^ You can kind of see her face in that one. Tiger hair in the way.

@YM Balthuman: Who is she?

@YM Balthuman: Gyu-bear we *just* made the plan yesterday. It’s still a go.

@Gyu: boss, I’m tellin you. we should meet ASAP

@YM Balthuman: Tiger’s beta-reading with me tonight. Should I cancel?

@Gyu: definitely. don’t want another broken leg

@YM Balthuman: Done.

@Gyu: my shift goes til 10

@YM Balthuman: 👍

Quincey’d seemed worried when Gyu had walked through the door close to eleven that night. He tugged Gyu over the threshold quickly glancing up and down the small elevator lobby outside the front door to his penthouse.

“Shit, Quincey, it’s just me,” Gyu had tried to pry his arm away, but the man was much stronger than he was.

“Can never be too careful, honey,” he said, closing the door behind them. He raised his eyebrows meaningfully, “there’s a tiger on the loose tonight,” he tapped an index finger to his temple. Gyu shook his head—the man loved to scheme. He motioned for Gyu to join him in the living room. “I was just about to have a little party,” he said with a smile, waggling a bag of weed before tossing it down next to some rolling papers. “Care to join?” He flopped down on the couch.

“You just want me to roll one for you, don’t you,” Gyu sighed as he toed off his shoes and put his messenger bag down on one of the stools tucked beneath the kitchen counter. “What happened to your vape? Run outta juice?”

Quincey reclined back on the couch, folding his arms across his chest, “I resent that, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah. We have a lot to go over. Let’s hold off on _that_ ,” Gyu gestured with an open palm toward the paraphernalia spread over the coffee table, “until we figure shit out. We need a change of plan, and I need you sharp.”

Quincey groaned. “Gyu-bear,” he started. “We already have a plan. And if it works out…” he trailed off.

“Yeah.” Gyu said softly—it could change Big Bro’s life for the better. If this girl really was what Quincey said she meant to Tora…Gyu could only hope he found someone that important in his own life. But…there was Poppy now. And Big Bro seemed really taken with her. He needed to convince Quincey to call it off.

“So, you said you know this girl,” Quincey patted the seat beside him. The ends of his eyebrows pulled up… _what that disgust?_ He didn’t know anything about Poppy, why the face? “Do tell.”

“What the hell crawled up _your_ ass and died?” His blonde friend seemed off, maybe a little pissed? Gyu couldn’t tell.

Quincey narrowed his eyes. “I like you, Gyu,” he said, pursing his lips, “let’s keep it that way, mmkay?” _Yikes_ , Gyu thought, _tough crowd tonight_. Quincey could usually take the shit-talk, but apparently something was really bugging him. “Her name’s Poppy,” said Gyu, tugging out his phone from his pocket. He pulled up the photo Tora had sent him on Friday and tossed it to Quincey who gingerly picked it up out of his lap, turning the phone until it was right-side-up in one of his hands. He leaned forward, double-tapping the screen to zoom in.

“Gyu, what is this? What am I looking at?” He shrugged his shoulders in agitation and shook his head before glancing up.

“Pretty sure that’s Poppy.”

Quincey squinted back down at the phone. “The girl from Starbucks?” he tilted his head. “Gyu, I’ve seen botched passports with clearer photos than this.” He tossed the phone back to Gyu, leaning back into the couch cushions. “How do you know it’s her?”

Gyu swallowed. This was the part he’d been dreading since they’d made plans to meet. Though Quincey wasn’t as brutish as Big Bro, Gyu was sure the man could deliver a swift punch if he had to. He was the big boss’s son after all. Still, Gyu was fast and he’d learned how to dodge a blow. “I…” Gyu swallowed again, “I…may have…met her?” He looked up at Quincey and slowly sucked his lower lip between his teeth as Quincey’s face hardened. _Oh shit_ , it was moments like this—few and far between though they were—that reminded Gyu of the kind of power his friend held. He could make a call and have Gyu six feet under in under an hour.

“You’re going to have to repeat that for me, honey,” his words were laced with danger. “Because it sounded a lot like you said you met her. But when would have met her?” He eyed Gyu, unmoving.

“Yesterday,” it came out a whisper, as Quincey’s eyes widened.

“As in, you met her, went to work, and then you spent what, three, four hours here, talking about Strawberry Girl, when you knew Tora already _had_ a boo?”

Gyu scooched a little further down the couch from Quincey, his hands splayed to either side, fingers just lightly skimming the fabric of the couch, his torso bent forward as though ready to bolt if needed. Well, firstly: I met her _at_ work,” Quincey glared at him. “And secondly: Big Bro looked about ready to murder me at the bar when she talked to me, so—out of self-preservation—I kept my mouth shut,” he said, eyes wide. “Plus!” he held up a finger, “plus we were already gonna meet to talk OSG, so what difference did it make if Big Bro was flirting a little with some lady?” He thought for a moment, “for all we know, he’s trying to get something out of her.” Gyu frowned a little at that—didn’t seem like that’d been the case and he didn’t like the idea that anyone would just use Poppy.

“What the hell, Gyu?” After hearing Gyu’s plea about self-preservation, he looked less murderous and more annoyed. He huffed, his head falling back to the top of the couch cushion. “Well, now I’m curious,” he said, “what changed your mind? Tora’d still probably break your leg if he knew you were here talking to me about her.”

Gyu swallowed. The thought had definitely crossed his mind, but this was important. “It’s about OSG. I don’t think we should go through with the plan.” Quincey blinked at him. “I know, man, just…hear me out, okay?”

*

For the last year since Big Bro had drunkenly confided in Quincey about the girl he’d met in Moonbright ten years ago, Quincey and Gyu—though mostly Gyu, if he was being honest—had worked to track down the public records of the homeowners for the address Big Bro had said the girl lived. Their efforts had been pretty upsetting to say the least. At the time Big Bro said he’d met her, the house had been owned first by a young couple and then a widow living alone. Neither household had turned up a little girl, at least not where Gyu could readily access it online. He had mostly given up, texting Quincey every once in a while if he happened to meet a woman that had lived in the town at some point, but it was pretty hopeless. Without saying it aloud, they’d both come to the disappointing conclusion that this girl had probably just been visiting the house and not living there, which really widened their search pool to the size of a damn ocean.

A couple nights ago, though, after Gyu had gotten off his shift at the Black Swan, he’d started thinking about the house again and the old woman. Big Bro had been extra stressed after the big boss’s orders to track down Goliath. Gyu’d tried to help, but Big Bro had given him so little information to go off of—he knew deep down it was his fault Big Bro was struggling to find the blue-haired man. If only he could’ve been more helpful. And Big Bro deserved to be happy, he really did. Quincey had told him in passing some things about their childhood that made Gyu shudder, and he was sure Big Bro hadn’t even told the blonde man the half of it. So, he’d got to thinking again with his birthday coming up again: the public records had showed the widow still living there, but short of driving to Moonbright to ask the lady if she knew a young girl ten years ago…Gyu had shot up from his couch, the game controller flying off his chest and onto the floor. They hadn’t checked to see if the woman had a family, cause they were idiots that’s why, stupidly assuming that because she was widowed meant that she’d lived her life without starting a family. Gyu’d immediately run over to his desktop, opening up the files he’d saved from the last ten months of searching until he’d found the death record for the husband. He’d searched then for the man’s obituary, skimming until he found what he needed at the bottom of the article: _survived by his wife and son._ Gyu could’ve cried— _they’d had a son!_ Which meant she may have had a granddaughter. It hadn’t taken Gyu long to find the birth notice: a little girl born in Moonbright, last name Wilkes. Even better: her birthdate fit the timeline, but for the life of him he couldn’t track down her first name.

*

“Yeah, fine, whatever,” Quincey said. “But then you have to hear _me_ out.”

Gyu took a deep breath, “deal.” He relaxed a little bit into the couch, letting his back curve and his hands rest flat. “Look, man. Poppy is a real peach.” Quincey raised his eyebrows and Gyu huffed. “Not her body, man. I mean, well that too I guess—Quince, you know what I’m saying,” he rushed. “She just genuinely seems like a good person—kind and funny, down-to-earth. Don’t tell Big Bro this, but I thought she was a real cutie when I first met her. Wanted to get her number. But,” he shrugged. “You ever seen Big Bro smile?” He looked at Quincey who was studying Gyu’s face in the dim light that filtered in from the kitchen. The city lights, electric blues and purples that shone behind Quincey through the floor-length windows cast colorful splotches across them, kaleidoscoping them in silence.

Quincey was silent, his face unreadable as Gyu inhaled, then exhaled. “The only time he stopped smiling was when I _think_ he thought I was flirting with her and when an asshole who’s been hanging around Chevy’s the last couple weeks started hitting on her.” He smiled thinking back to the way his Big Bro had curled around Poppy protectively, possessively, even. Not in that toxic way some clan guys got with their women—like she was precious to him, like he’d do whatever she said. Like she was his, and she’d leaned back into him, her arm against his thigh. Gyu hadn’t even needed to help her after she’d turned to look at him. As soon as she’d seen Big Bro, that’d been that. Gyu guessed that they’d known each other, though probably not well—hell, she’d called him by name in front of the clan, seemingly oblivious to the kind of danger that could put her in. He’d been grateful for the glass closeby, quickly running his elbow into it when he realized what was about to happen. But watching them together, they’d been in their own bubble the whole time—it was all he could do to keep that asshole Lang on the other side of the bar. Big Bro deserved to be happy, even if it was just for a night. “Quince, I’ve literally never seen him laugh in like, a nice way. Like he was actually having a good time.”

Quincey regarded him with a neutral expression. One well-groomed eyebrow twitched.

“I think Poppy could be good for him—I know he doesn’t date cause of the clan, but I mean, isn’t that what we’re trying to do with OSG? Find him a lady that’s gonna make him happy?” Gyu felt his face crumple, brows pulling together. “I think he mighta found that with Poppy. What if we fuck it up?”

Quincey sighed, “Gyu, Tora told me today that she wants to meet me to get a book contract.”

Gyu frowned. “How does she know you’re Noyouko?” Quincey’s penname was perhaps the clan’s best-kept secret.

Quincey shook his head, as though trying to ignore this detail, “she doesn’t. Tora told her he knows me and that he can introduce us. Apparently, she’s some editor.” He paused, running his tongue over his front teeth. “I’m worried she might just be using him to get to me.”

_Using Big Bro? To get to Quincey?_ It didn’t really vibe with the little lady he’d gotten to talk to at Chevy’s. But Quincey looked real upset at the thought that someone might hurt his brother. “So, you met her?”

“Not yet. Haven’t decided.”

“Quince, I’m telling you, she’s not that kind of person. I’m really worried we might fuck up his chances with her if we end up actually finding Strawberry Girl.” Gyu paused, remembering, “hell, Poppy even likes strawberry juice,” he said, thinking back to the moment he’d glimpsed her sneak a sip from Big Bro’s glass. “And nobody but Big Bro likes that shit, so she must be good for him.” He considered, “maybe it’s a sign? You’re all about fate and destiny, man. How could you not be on board?”

Quincey seemed to think about it. “Gyu, we’ve never been closer to finding this girl,” he said. “We have her last name,” he leaned forward to emphasize the last two words. “Her grandmother still lives in that house—all we need to do is ask her so she can fill in the missing piece.”

“And how do you suppose we do that?” He pitched his voice higher in an imitation of innocence, “ _Hey Ms. Wilkes, we’re just a couple o’thugs lookin’ for your granddaughter. Her first name isn’t in the public records, could you help us out_?” He looked back at Quincey who was lost in thought for a moment before he leaned back again.

“I’ll need to sleep on it, honey. I don’t think so well when there’s the promise of weed so close…and yet so far,” he said tilting his head and raising his eyebrows at Gyu before slightly pouting his lower lip.

Gyu rolled his eyes. “Fine, but swear you’ll think about it,” he stood grabbing the baggie and the rolling papers off the coffee table before bringing them to the kitchen counter so he could see better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two 🙄🙄


	4. Red alert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gyu’s ass really fucking hurts. Luckily Big Bro’s back—did he finally bring a chair?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told from Gyu’s POV. Not necessary to read this in order to understand the Strawberry Girl thread in my main fic Chasing Poppies. Just a bit of fun shenanigans of our two favorite sidekicks heehee 
> 
> Chronology: overlaps with chapters 20 and 24 of Chasing Poppies.
> 
> As always, characters belong to the real MVP Lilydusk, brilliant creator of Midnight Poppy Land. Support her on Patreon! https://www.patreon.com/lilydusk

**Chasing Poppies One-Shot: Gyu (accompanies chapters 20: Incredibly patient & 24: Bull in Chasing Poppies)**

Gyu leaned his head against the wall of the security booth, rolling his head side to side slowly against the glass behind him, staring down at the game of Mafia on his phone. Quincey absolutely sucked at the game—not as bad as Big Bro, but still pretty fucking bad. Almost to the point where it was boring to play with him—too easy—unless he was able to recruit Bryan or Damien. They were always a good time, but Gyu was still the reigning champ. He smirked to himself as Quincey got voted off the group they’d joined. He swiped out of the game for a second, opening up the delivery app he’d used to place his dinner order, rolling his eyes and huffing in frustration when he saw that the car was in the same damn place it’d been for the last ten minutes. He’d been camped out in the booth almost non-stop since Big Bro had gotten him the job just that weekend—it was definitely not meant for just one person if the booth needed to be manned 24/7, and apparently, that’s what Big Bro wanted.

He’d seen the way the man looked at Poppy—frankly, was still pretty shocked at the developments of the last week. _Poppy Wilkes_ , he thought to himself. Damn, what were the odds, truly. The text Quincey had sent him that morning had shocked him awake more so than the gas station coffee Bryan had brought him. He pulled up the texts again, still in disbelief as he scrolled through the brief conversation from a little after ten o’clock that morning.

@YM Balthuman: RED ALERT RED ALERT

@Gyu: ?

@Gyu: ???  
@Gyu: boss?

@Gyu: boss, should I call big bro?

@YM Balthuman: OSG 🍓 RED ALERT 🍓 OSG

@Gyu: ?????  
@Gyu: boss, don’t leave me hanging

@Gyu: you didn’t pick up?????? boss??????

@YM Balthuman: Her last name is Wilkes.  
@YM Balthuman: I REPEAT:  
@YM Balthuman: HER 👏 LAST 👏 NAME 👏 IS 👏 WILKES 👏

@Gyu: …  
@Gyu: we knew that tho. we need her first name

@YM Balthuman: POPPYLAN 👏 WILKES 👏  
@YM Balthuman: Just signed a contract with her.  
@YM Balthuman: SG is my editor now 🍓🤯 🥳  
@YM Balthuman: We should throw a party, need to tell him!!! 🐅

@Gyu: wait what  
@Gyu: pick up?? please???

Gyu thought back to the conversation he’d had with Quincey almost immediately after he’d learned Poppy’s last name, finally picking up the third time he’d tried calling him. The man had been fucking ecstatic, done a complete one-eighty on how he felt about Big Bro being interested in her, and it’d been Gyu’s turn to be skeptical—they hadn’t been able to confirm whether or not Poppy was from Moonbright. For all they knew, she was just another person with the last name Wilkes—a weird coincidence for sure, but not exactly the most solid piece of evidence to prove their fucking conspiracy theory. If they wanted to get to the bottom of it, they’d need to connect with the old woman who lived in the house in Moonbright—needed to learn the _first_ name of the strawberry girl. That or they needed to ask Poppy if she’d lived in Moonbright. He knew which option _he_ preferred, Gyu thought, rolling his eyes at Quincey’s desire for a dramatic reveal, his insistence on connecting with the old woman. Seemed to Gyu that Poppy turning out to be Strawberry Girl would be dramatic enough, but what’d he know? He was just a hungry bartender-turned-security-guard with a sore ass.

Gyu shifted in his seat, trying to stretch out his lower back—the stool was real fucking hard on his bones, no support, like balancing on a fucking fencepost. He’d asked Big Bro to bring by a different chair—at least that way he could use the desk comfortably. As it was, he ended up leaning back against the window and kicking his feet up on the too-short desk instead of actually getting to sit at his laptop, and his body was killing him. Didn’t understand how the other guard had been able to handle posting up in the stupid little booth, though if the big box of condoms he’d found stashed beside the back leg of the desk was any indication, the man had been plenty busy. Probably hadn’t spent much time sitting anyway. Gyu shuddered to think what might’ve gone down in the booth before he’d taken over the job—maybe he should ask Big Bro for some sanitizer, too. He’d stopped by in the late morning, but he hadn’t had a chair with him, and honestly, Gyu’d been too distracted by the new information about Poppy to really care. Been nervous as hell, too. He’d caught sight of himself in the glass a couple times and each time he’d been surprised by how wide his eyes were, nearly bulging from his head as he tried to keep up a casual conversation with his intimidating boss.

He’d tried to bring up the topic of Poppy a couple times, but Big Bro’s eyes had flashed in anger immediately—Gyu wasn’t looking to get his leg broken. Said as much to Big Bro who’d been distracted by something along the side of the building. And then Gyu’d accidentally let slip about the guy who’d shown up the day before to plead with Poppy through the gate. Probably to take him back, Gyu’d assumed. But shit, she could do worlds better than the smarmy-looking dude named Julri—apparently, she seemed to know that, too, as he’d watched her block him. _Cheating scumbag_ , she’d shouted, surprisingly forceful for her size—Gyu’d been happy to be able to act as the muscle for a change, when the asshole had tried talking over her, not listening at all. Gyu’d puffed his chest out the way he’d seen Big Bro do, though definitely not as intimidating on his bony frame. Maybe he should take Big Bro up on his offers to train with the rest of the gang, Gyu shrugged. Had to admit it’d felt nice when the asshole’d actually listened, a little less nice that he’d had to bluff that he’d called for back-up, thinking of Big Bro. Eh, whatever. He wondered how Poppy’d even ended up with an asshole like the Julri dick. Gyu’d decided to keep an eye out for him—had a feeling from the pathetic way he’d slinked away, only after Gyu’s threat, tossing looks over his shoulder at Poppy, that he’d be back. Unfortunately, dicks like that rarely ever just crawled back into the holes they’d come from, had seen plenty of girls harassed at the various bars he’d worked over the years to know that—if he did come back, Gyu hoped Big Bro would be around. Might break up the monotony of the day to see a little ass-kicking, though Big Bro might take it too far and just straight up kill the guy. He frowned at the thought, spinning the phone in his hand, Poppy probably wouldn’t like that. Didn’t seem like the type for violence, though she _had_ seemed about ready to punch the Julri dick in the face. He couldn’t imagine Big Bro’d told her about what he did for the clan, if he’d told her about the clan at all. There probably weren’t that many people who’d be understanding, especially for a guy with as much street cred as Big Bro. _The Tiger of Ares Street_ , Gyu shuddered at the thought. Even _he_ didn’t know the full extent of what Big Bro’d done to earn that name. Didn’t really want to, either. Could imagine well enough. He swallowed, thinking of one of the only times he’d seen the man go full Mewtwo… _fucking Goliath_. 

As he’d spoken to Big Bro, Gyu’d tried to poke around whether or not the hulking man knew her, recognized her—the man certainly didn’t let on if he did—but Big Bro had quickly changed the subject, seemed pretty fucking defensive. But maybe he’d just been on edge about something? He’d kept looking up at one of the balconies…hers? Seemed real intent on beefing up security around the building, Gyu had a feeling it was all for Poppy. Had a feeling that was the real reason the job had suddenly, mysteriously opened up. Gyu shook his head—impossible to tell. It was evening now—as exciting as the news about Strawberry Girl had been this morning, his ass really fucking hurt. Made it a little tough to stay the same level of pumped as Quincey, who’d taken to texting him strawberry emojis at random throughout the day. Gyu really hoped Big Bro would swing by with a chair, hoped he hadn’t gotten tied up in some important clan business. He’d mentioned something about Goliath last week…clearly some shit was going down. Way above his head as far as he was concerned.

Just then, he heard a car rev from down the road, and Gyu quickly turned in his seat to check out the window behind him, hoping to see a lit delivery sign. He frowned, no such luck. A red sports car—definitely Big Bro’s he realized a second later as the vehicle pulled up to the gate. _Finally!_ He wanted to bring up the idea of rotating shifts with some of the other guys, but at this point he’d settle for a fucking chair. Something with a back, _oh, that’d be nice_. He watched as Big Bro slowed the car to a halt at the gate’s keypad, holding up a finger to Poppy who sat beside him in the passenger seat, smirking at her before quickly punching in the gate code, turning back and…pinching her cheek? As if that wasn’t surprising enough, Gyu felt his eyebrows shoot up as Big Bro’s face broke into a smile. Laughed. Gyu jumped as the gate suddenly began creaking open—so fucking loud—and blinked a couple times as Big Bro pulled an exaggerated face, his mouth hanging open at something she’d said until the gate finished sliding open. He watched Big Bro’s face suddenly settle into a neutral expression as he made eye contact with Gyu, nodding once as they drove past, turning into the lot.

He hadn’t seen a chair in the backseat, but maybe Big Bro’d put it in the trunk? Gyu stood up, might as well ask while the man was in a good mood—a fucking fantastic mood judging by the way he’d been laughing in the car. Shit, Gyu didn’t think he’d ever seen him look so happy before. The driver’s side door suddenly swung open forcefully as Big Bro flung himself from the car, slamming the door and jogging to open the trunk with so much force Gyu thought he might fucking rip it clean off. Gyu hesitated from his position by the open door of the booth—was Big Bro mad? Didn’t need a broken leg, but he really wanted that chair. He thought he saw a smile on the man’s face though, as he quickly ran to pull open the door to the backseat on the passenger side. Eh, fuck it, he seemed like he was still in a good mood.

“Hey, Big Bro!” he called, a little worried that the man’d slammed the trunk without pulling out any kind of chair—maybe it was a folding one, though. Even _that’d_ be better than the fucking stool and he probably wouldn’t’ve been able to see it when they drove by. “Did you bring that chair?” He tilted his head in confusion as he watched Big Bro pull out some plants from the backseat, nestling them into the open bag slung over his shoulder. Gyu tried to peer around the man’s broad back, taking a couple steps from the booth and freezing with his foot in the air as Big Bro shot him a glare over his shoulder—his eyes looked like they were on fire, like he would straight up murder him if he got any closer, if he dared to speak another word.

“Neeeevermind,” Gyu muttered to himself, his eyes wide, lips pressed tight together as he retreated backwards into the booth, “not important, it can wait.” He slid the door shut carefully behind him, trying not to make a sound as he sat back on the stool, sliding it close to the desk so he could hunch over the surface. He tried desperately to stuff his thighs under the table, but his knees knocked against the edge—couldn’t fucking fit. Stupid fucking stool. He hunched lower, peeking up out the window after a second when he was fairly certain Big Bro hadn’t followed him, just in time to see the man reach down into the passenger side, easily scooping Poppy up into his arms, bridal style, and kicking the door shut behind him. Gyu could hear her laughter through the walls of the booth, watched as Big Bro shifted her in his arms like she weighed nothing until she was slung over his shoulder, the bag with the plants smacking against his hamstrings with each step as he climbed the stairs quickly.

Gyu lifted his head to watch them openly, his lips parting in shock at the way Poppy was laughing, gasping for breath against Big Bro’s back, the way his friend’s hands were wrapped around her waist, the back of her thigh—so…intimate? Possessive, almost, and she was clearly loving it. Her hands coming down to pat his lower back just above his waistline. Big Bro turned at her signal and Gyu nearly fell from the stool—the man was grinning wider than he’d ever seen. Holy shit, he looked like a completely different person. Younger. Carefree. Weightless despite his bulk, the fact that he had his arms full. He met his eyes briefly and a moment later, Poppy had opened the door to the apartment. Big Bro stepped backwards and they disappeared together.

Gyu stared at the closed door in shock for a couple minutes at least. How long had it been since they’d climbed the stairs? Seemed like Big Bro was about to get lucky, which, Gyu nodded to himself, maybe meant _he’d_ be getting lucky, too—if Big Bro was spending the night, maybe Gyu could go home. He pulled out his phone, opening up his messages with Quincey.

@Gyu: so big bro is here rn…

@YM Balthuman: Where? 

Gyu rolled his eyes, tapping on the contact photo and hitting dial. “Gyu-bear, what—”

“I’m at Poppy’s building,” he cut Quincey off, getting straight to the point. “Quincey,” he said, pausing until he could hear silence on the other end, “they just went up to her place. Man was _laughing_. Like, a shit ton—more even than the first night I saw them together.”

Quincey remained silent for a moment, then, “we should tell him. Tomorrow. As soon as possible—he should know it’s her.”

Gyu sighed, they’d been over this earlier that day. “At the risk of being a broken record, Quincey, it could just be a coincid—”

“That’s stupid and you know it, honey.”

Gyu huffed. “We _don’t_ know that it’s her. We still just have unconnected pieces,” Gyu said, raising his voice slightly to talk over Quincey who was trying to argue with him again, “strawberry girl’s last name is Wilkes, but we don’t know her first name. Poppy’s last name is also Wilkes, but they could very well be different people entirely. Until we can confirm that she’s from Moonbright or that she has some connection to the old woman, we shouldn’t tell him.”

“Gyu, I really—”

“I know you live for the drama, Quincey, but think of it this way,” Gyu said, lowering his voice. “What if we’re wrong.” He paused for effect and, when Quincey didn’t interrupt, continued, “what if we’re wrong and it fucks this up for him—whatever he’s got going on with Poppy. Quincey, when I tell you he was laughing, I mean they were _both_ laughing. _Together_. With each other. Like they were in their own little world and I was just the fucking creepy side character watching.” He sighed, “it’s like this…energy they’ve got. I don’t know. It was the same at Chevy’s.” He could hear Quincey breathing on the other end of the line. “I want this to work for him, you know?”

“So, then, what? We visit Moonbright? Scope out the house?”

“Ooooor,” Gyu flicked his eyes back to her apartment—Big Bro hadn’t come out yet, which was a good sign for him, “why not just ask her?”

“Hmm, yeah,” Quincey said, thinking it over. “Have to set a meeting with her sometime this week, probably Wednesday. I’ll see what I can find out.” Gyu rolled his eyes—why was he acting like this was some secret spy mission? Before he could ask, Quincey spoke again, “oh, honey, gotta run. Cordy’s calling, ciao.”

Gyu locked the phone, putting it down on the desk as he looked up at the apartment. He’d tried to get Big Bro to talk about Moonbright earlier that day, and he’d mentioned the run they’d made as a group ten years ago—the Ares Street Kingz. Gyu hadn’t even realized they’d been in Moonbright, that the time when Big Bro had left them alone at a gas station could very well have been the time when he’d met the strawberry girl. Weird to think that she might be Poppy. Weirder to have seen Big Bro’s reaction to his careful probing, clamming up at Gyu’s question, _that was, what, like ten years ago?_ Gyu smiled to himself at the prospect that shit like this could happen in real life—what were the odds. His phone buzzed again, and he grinned—his dinner was just down the block. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a shitty night after all.

*

Gyu’d been wrong. It’d been a shitty fucking night. His mouth tasted like old coffee and fast food, dry as shit. He rolled his shoulders, hoping for pops, but his back was too inflamed to allow any release. Stretching lightly, he glanced down at his phone as he yawned, checking to see if Damien had texted back yet. He really needed a good night’s rest—they really had to figure out some kind of shift schedule cause this was fucking ridiculous. He watched the rain trickle down the window of the booth. Fuck, his ass was killing him. Even playing Mafia with Bryan late last night hadn’t distracted him from the pain for too long. He yawned again—was going to fall asleep again if he didn’t switch something up.

Gyu slid the door to the booth open, letting the cool morning air breeze into the small space. He shivered—it was getting colder fast, might even be snowing by next week. He glanced up along the side of the building, yawning again as he squinted his eyes at some movement on the top floor. He leaned forward—almost looked like Poppy. _Oh_ , he blinked a couple times. That must’ve been why Big Bro’d kept looking up the side of the building—her balcony. Gyu’s eyes widened as he watched a shirtless mass that could only be Big Bro, move to stand behind her, his body curling over hers the way he had that one night at Chevy’s, his face pressed close to her as he brought an arm down to the railing on either side of her body. Gyu quickly pulled out his phone, snapping a picture and sending it to Quincey, almost falling off the stool when he looked back up, meeting Big Bro’s gaze. Shit, had he seen? _No, no, no_. He really didn’t want a broken leg. And if Big Bro were mad at him, he probably wouldn’t bring him a chair or allow him to work out some kind of shift schedule. Gyu groaned, allowing himself to slump backwards against the window of the booth, sliding the door shut with his foot.

He considered texting an apology to Big Bro, but decided against it on the off chance the man hadn’t seen. Wasn’t going to dig his own grave. He checked his messages with Quincey, not really expecting a response this early in the morning, before opening up a game of Mafia to kill the time.

*

A little while later, some movement on the top floor of the building caught Gyu’s eye and he watched as Big Bro and Poppy stepped out from her apartment. He laughed to himself at the image of Big Bro holding the colorful umbrella, smiling as he noticed the way that his friend held the umbrella above Poppy, his own shoulder getting wet in the morning drizzle as they made their way down the steps. Gyu squinted through the drops that had collected along the window—he couldn’t be sure, but it looked a lot like Big Bro was carrying a little plant. He stood up quickly as Big Bro leaned his head back, about to walk into a pole before Poppy pulled him to safety, redirecting him toward her by the elbow. As Big Bro turned around to face her near the trunk, Gyu quickly sat back down, looking down at his phone. Felt weird to watch them from afar.

He pulled up his messages with Damien, sending him another text—the pink-haired man had become shit at responding to him since he’d started seeing someone seriously, accidentally called her girlfriend once. Gyu frowned, maybe it hadn’t been an accident? He looked up as Big Bro’s car pulled up to the booth, his eyes widening, brows climbing up under his hair as he took in the sight of Poppy in the driver’s seat. She rolled down the window of the car, glancing up at him. He could hear her say good morning through the thin wall of the booth and he felt his arm extend toward the door, slowly sliding it open. She was tapping on her phone and Gyu’s mouth fell open wider as he realized what she was doing—he didn’t even know if Big Bro knew how to use his car’s Bluetooth capabilities. Maybe, but who knew—not Gyu, that was for fucking sure. Gyu bent down, peering into the car and looking at Big Bro in the passenger seat, stifling a laugh at how much lower he seemed in the seat of his own car. “Morning, Poppy,” he glanced at her then back to the man beside her, “Big Bro?” Gyu heard him inhale sharply, his nostrils flaring before he blinked his eyes open slowly, murder written in the glare he aimed at Gyu. _Oh, fuck._ Poppy didn’t seem to notice, as she rolled up the window, a song she’d chosen beginning to play softly over the patter of rain, and pulled forward as the gate slid open on a loud groan.

Gyu pulled out his phone, quickly typing out another message to Quincey and sending it off.

@Gyu: boss, you’ll never guess who’s driving big bro’s car

His face fell and Gyu gulped audibly at the notification he received immediately after he’d pressed send, quickly sending a follow-up message to Quincey to forget everything, delete everything, abort, abort. _Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit—_

@BB Tora: not a fuckin word ronzo, or i’ll break ya other leg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note: Who else keeps opening Patreon to stare at that pic of Tora’s S2 hair that Lilydusk uploaded today…no? Just me? 🥵🥵


	5. Bottomless grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quincey and Tora have a semi heart-to-heart and attend a small party at a rooftop bar. Quincey’s night takes an unexpected turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told from Quincey’s POV. Not necessary to read this in order to understand my main fic Chasing Poppies, though it will definitely color how you read chapters 27 and on. I think. 
> 
> Chronology: overlaps with the end of chapter 27-29 in Chasing Poppies (https://archiveofourown.org/works/28567209/chapters/70010034)
> 
> As always, characters belong to the real MVP Lilydusk, brilliant creator of Midnight Poppy Land. Support her on Patreon! https://www.patreon.com/lilydusk
> 
> CW: gore and shit that comes with Vincent

**Chasing Poppies One-Shot: Quincey (accompanies/overlaps chapters 27-29 in Chasing Poppies)**

Quincey took another sip of water from the ice-cold bottle in his hand, a steadying breath. When he’d given Tora the four o-clock deadline, he’d really thought the man would be home sooner, that he wouldn’t take the entire time to finish his father’s assignment. He swallowed, spinning his phone on the counter again after tapping it to check the time, his messages with Tora. Hadn’t heard from him since Wednesday.

@Quincey: Need you back by 4 sharp on Friday, that still work?

@Tiger 🐅: fine

His brother’s one word stared up at him as he listened to the voices of Martin’s men from over the counter where they sat in the living room on his couch. He knew they didn’t respect him—hated the fact that they were in his home, that they’d stuck to him like glue the last few days since Tora had left. Just today, he’d had to level them with the stare he used whenever he tried to imitate his father, and that was just to get them to take their damn shoes off in his apartment. Quincey drew his fist to his mouth, eyes widening on a shiny fleck of stone along the smooth surface of the counter, biting the knuckle of his thumb absently, Madeline’s worried expression front of mind as Claude and Scharch laughed in the other room. She’d warned him she’d seen them talking to Poppy the other day from the window of the Starbucks, that Poppy had looked intimidated by them. Had said she’d handled them, whatever that meant—even Madeline wasn’t sure, though she seemed to have taken Poppy’s word for it. Still…the barista had felt uneasy enough to confide in him when he’d stopped back for a second coffee after his meeting at Giant Goldfish, the high he’d been riding the ten minutes since finding out Poppy was from Moonbright—his frantic texts to Gyu—immediately crashing down around him. _Maybe you need new employees, Quincey_ —truer words, he’d thought, his insides running cold.

Quincey knew—he knew in his gut—that if she’d caught the attention of Martin’s men, then it wouldn’t be long until she’d caught the attention of his father. He couldn’t have that, couldn’t allow that to happen. His father was one of the sharpest people he knew with near-infinite resources. It wouldn’t take him long to discover her connection to Tora. Though he knew Tora held secrets from childhood, that he’d spared his younger brother from the details of what _exactly_ happened all those hours when they weren’t in school— _training_ with Vincent, with Martin…Quincey knew firsthand his father always needed the upper hand. Wouldn’t let Tora hold onto something that could be considered a weakness. Always vying for control, dominance. Quincey took another sip of water at the thought, eyes focusing on his thumb where he vaguely noticed he’d drawn some blood. _Huh_.

He’d need to keep Martin’s men away from the rooftop bar. Once Tora was here, he could dismiss them, wouldn’t have to worry about them poking around his business anymore. At least not until Tora’s next mission. But if he wasn’t back on time, there was a good chance Claude and Scharch would report that to Martin who would certainly report it to his father who would more than likely demand an audience with Tora, ruining the night that’d taken Quincey so long to plan. All for Tora, it was all for his brother. Quincey’s head shot up at the sound of the elevator from the other side of the front door, a smile breaking across his face, relief bubbling in his stomach. That had to be Tora.

A moment later, Quincey put his water bottle down as he heard the front door swing open, Martin’s men immediately falling silent. He frowned, tucking his phone back into his pocket—it wasn’t like them to ever shut up. Claude especially liked trying to provoke Tora. Quincey’s brows pulled further together at the sound of a thud from around the corner as he approached the entryway, glancing over at Claude and Scharch whose faces had fallen into looks of what Quincey could only describe as open horror. _Tch_ , he rolled his eyes, they were always judging his brother—really, if they knew him, they’d realize he wasn’t nearly as terrifying as his reputation suggested. He opened his mouth to welcome Tora home, but immediately felt the greeting die in his throat as his heart stopped at the sight of the man who had just set foot in the penthouse. Quincey felt his lungs collapse in his chest as he took in the image of his brother in the entryway staring at his blood-soaked reflection in the floor-length mirror. _Oh, honey. No. No._

Quincey’s stomach turned at the smell, had only ever smelled blood like this a couple times in his life, each more horrifying, more traumatizing than the last. He was certain this was the worst, though. From head to toe, Tora practically dripped with it, his dark clothes shone under the overhead lights, slick around the folds of the material. His olive skin, a palette smeared with shades of red—crimson and rust—most of the dark stains, crusted. Long dried, thicker in some places than others, streaks of lighter pinks where his sweat had run. How many days had he been covered in it? Quincey swallowed, taking a shallow breath, noticing that his brother clutched a tiny aloe plant to his chest, the pot smeared with blood, his other hand extended toward the ground where his shoes lay sprawled beside a duffel bag. Slowly, Tora turned his head from the mirror, his eyes following almost a full second behind the movement of his neck, finally finding Quincey as though through a fog. Quincey clenched his jaw, recognized that empty look in his brother’s eyes, his normally neutral expression devoid of presence—he was clearly dissociating, separate from his body. Dr. Mack had told him the risks, shared some ways to help get Tora through this particular coping mechanism that left him for long periods outside of himself. _Talking_. Dr. Mack had said talking, direct questions would help.

Tora bent then, peeling the jeans down his legs—Quincey could hear the sound of the material unsticking from his skin from across the entryway. He swallowed back the nausea—had to be strong for Tora in this moment. Needed to be. “How bad’s the mess?” He huffed a breath at himself—damn, if he wanted to help, he probably shouldn’t be asking about whatever Tora had just…done. But he also _did_ need to know, needed to call the cleaners. Quincey’s eyes fell to what looked like an open wound on Tora’s leg—he couldn’t be sure, though. There was so much blood.

“Need the cleaners, no civilians,” Tora said lowly, his voice hoarse like he hadn’t used it in a while, throwing his clothes down onto the duffel and reaching down to peel off his socks. “Car needs a full detail, garage and elevator.” Quincey nodded, trying to shake himself back into the moment—needed to stay strong for Tora. For Tora. His lips parted around a soft gasp as his brother spared a glance toward the living room before pulling his briefs down his legs. Though he vaguely registered the quick movements of Martin’s men averting their gazes, Quincey couldn’t tear his eyes form his brother—somehow, it was worse now that he was naked. The blood caking the entire length of his body, smeared in places where the clothes had moved against him, streaked where he’d sweat, the lines between his muscles dark with it. Under any other circumstance, Quincey would have noted how high up the man’s leg tattoo went—he hadn’t known it ran all the way up to his pelvis, but the way the blood obscured the ink, like a second kind of tattoo, a second skin…Quincey quickly forced himself to swallow the bile that’d crept up his throat as Tora’d examined himself before stooping to scoop up the plant, striding over to the kitchen as he left faint stains along the carpet in his wake.

Tora held the aloe plant slightly away from his body toward Quincey, both of his large, bloodstained palms cradling the pot, a look of anguish in the set of his jaw. His amber eyes cloudy with grief. “Give him some water. Just a little, not sure how much,” his voice cracked, and—as Quincey extended his hands to take the plant—Tora moved past him, still in a daze, clutching the aloe like a balm against his torso as he grabbed an empty glass, filling it with water, gulping soundlessly before filling it again and repeating the process. He watched as Tora finally set the plant down on the counter, his fingertips trailing along the ceramic like it pained him to part with it, his thumbs sweeping gently around the belly of the pot once, a bloody pack of cigarettes falling from his fist—Quincey hadn’t even noticed it, but his heart sank at the sight of them. “Keep an eye on him,” Tora said, his voice low as he poured a little bit of water over the plant. Quincey blinked, realizing for the first time that the pot was in the shape of a dinosaur—it was the plant his brother had texted to him and Gyu last week. _What on earth?_ “Gonna shower,” Tora spoke again, padding back around the counter to walk down the hall into the guest bathroom. A moment after the door shut behind him, Quincey heard the water turn on. He looked up at Martin’s men in the living room—Claude was eyeing the plant, his eyes narrowed. Quincey stepped up to the counter, angling his arm around the dinosaur to block it from view before placing it in the sink and setting to work on cleaning off the pot—he remembered it’d been white in the picture Tora’d sent. He was going to make it white again if it was the last thing he did, dammit. Clearly, the man was attached to it for some reason—called it a _him_. He needed to make it perfect, put it back together for him. He could fix this. He could fix it.

“I know I told Martin you two would be off once Tora got back,” he called from across the counter, briefly making eye contact with Claude before turning his gaze back to the plant, the sponge, “but I’m going to need you to drive me to the bar—Tora’s clearly going to need a bit to make himself…presentable.” Quincey grabbed a paper towel, cutting the water and drying off the plant, surprised at how easily the blood had washed off. Like new. “Pull the car up out front, I’ll be down shortly,” he instructed. As Claude opened his mouth to say something, Quincey nailed him with a sharp look, doing his best impression of his father. “You don’t want to make me repeat myself.”

Claude closed his mouth at that, nodding once as Scharch stood beside him, both men walking to toe on their shoes by the front door, stepping over the tracks Tora had left. Quincey followed them to the entryway, watching as they picked their way around the bloody clothes, the bag. He folded his arms across his chest, leaning against the wall, trying to give the impression that this was normal, that Tora regularly made a habit of coming home like this, and—more important—that Quincey condoned it. Was comfortable with it, even. He needed them to remain as terrified as they had seemed when Tora’d first walked in. Anything to keep them away, from discovering his connection to Poppy—there’d be too much opportunity tonight for them to find out. “You won’t be coming up with me, just a drop off. I don’t want to see you at the bar, I don’t want a clan presence. Do I make myself clear?” He kept his voice low as he spoke, unfolding his arms and acting as though he were cleaning something out from his nail before glancing back up at them, one brow raised. 

“Understood,” Scharch finally said, opening the door and heading out. Claude held Quincey’s gaze for a moment before following.

As soon as the door had closed, Quincey let out the shaky breath he’d been holding, his shoulders slumping as he looked down at the bloody mess in front of his mirror. He pulled out his phone, shooting off a text to the clan’s cleaner before moving back to the sink, pulling the plant out and patting it dry before carrying it with him down the hall to the guest bedroom, the room he’d set up for Tora, though the man’d refused to actually use it, preferring to sleep on the couch when he spent the night. Quincey set the plant on the bed, thinking of the vacant look in his brother’s eyes from just minutes ago, the way that something had shifted, like Tora was still in there when he’d handled the plant, the way his voice had cracked, unable to part with it. Clearly, it was special. Quincey wondered if it had anything to do with his editor as he gingerly pulled an all-black outfit from the wardrobe— _better safe than sorry_ , he thought of the words Tora loved to say, thinking again of Poppy. Didn’t want to risk her seeing any blood on the man—he wasn’t sure how much or how little he’d told her, but imagined it was safe to assume she wouldn’t be so keen on seeing Tora in blood. He quickly pulled out a pair of briefs, folding them on top of the suit he’d laid on the bed before picking up the plant and a pair of dress shoes, walking back down the hallway to lay the shoes by the door before he returned the aloe to the countertop beside the sink. Tora deserved this, deserved happiness. He just wanted him to have a happy ending the way the main character of his first novel had, _Arato_. Quincey huffed a soft laugh to himself, still surprised Tora hadn’t picked up on the fact that the male lead was so very clearly based on him. 

A moment later, Quincey heard the bathroom door open, Tora’s footsteps down the hall, the creak of the bedroom door behind him. He glanced down at the cigarettes beside the plant—the white cardboard stained with bloody palmprints—that wouldn’t do. Tora’d said he was quitting, and after twenty-six years, there could really only be one reason. Quincey shoved them into a drawer, quickly walking to the coffee table in the living room where he’d left the box of Nicorette that he’d bought for Tora—the man was grumpy on a good day, but with the added pressure of trying to quit smoking? Forget it. And there was no way he was letting his brother, of all people, ruin his own chances with Poppy. Quincey scooped the box up, the cellophane crinkling under his fingers as he made his way back down the hall, pausing outside the guest bedroom and tapping on the door once. It swung open a little at his touch, and he met Tora’s eyes, entering at his brother’s subtle nod.

Quincey walked toward the bed, swallowing his nerves as he took in the sight of Tora pulling on the black dress shirt. He could see his tattoos clearly now, would never have been able to tell that the man had just been soaked in blood. Eerie, how easily the evidence washed away, though his eyes were still hollow. Dark circles under them, like he hadn’t gotten a good night’s rest in the last several days. Quincey had half a mind to cancel the party at the look on Tora’s face, but no. He knew in his gut that Tora needed this night, needed to come back to himself. He was certain Poppy was the only one who could do that. “Here,” Quincey tossed the Nicorette to Tora before moving to sit on the corner of the bed.

He crossed his legs out in front of his body, leaning back into his palms on the mattress as he watched Tora’s frown deepen, turning the box over in his hands a couple times before saying, “the fuck is this.” 

Quincey sighed inwardly, preparing himself for the pushback that was inevitable. He just had to be persistent, make sure Tora listened, didn’t self-sabotage his chance with Poppy, the strawberry girl. “It’s to help you quit. Keeps some nicotine in your system,” he said, nodding at the box and raising his eyebrows in invitation. He exhaled as Tora glared at him. Honestly, if he just ate a piece right now, he’d probably feel a little better, “it’ll make it easier—just follow the instructions, apparently it’s not like normal gum, so you’ll want to read carefully.” He knew this might be one of the biggest hurdles—if Tora didn’t like something the first time he tried it, he wasn’t likely to waste his time on it again unless there was a good enough reason. _Strawberry Girl’s a reason_. Tora hadn’t moved, and Quincey frowned. “Tora?”

“All set, Quince,” he grunted, “got smokes.” Quincey narrowed his eyes, taking in the way his brother’s fingers had clenched around the box. He hadn’t let go. Though he was _saying_ one thing, his body was doing the opposite. Quincey had a feeling he should trust Tora’s body language rather than the nonsense coming out of his mouth.

“Oh, no you don’t. Not anymore, at least,” he lied.

Tora whipped his head up toward Quincey, a dark look on his face, his body language suddenly lining up very well with what he was saying in a way that made Quincey gulp, re-thinking his approach, “the fuck ya mean, _not anymore_ …Quince?” His voice dipped somehow even lower as he spoke his name.

Quincey steeled himself, leveling an even stare at his brother—after all, the man still held the box. He was crushing it, but even _that_ was something. “You’re picking her up. Real soon, too. So you should finish getting dressed,” he added, nodding toward the jacket on the bed.

Tora let his head fall backwards, exposing his neck, the vein thrumming as he swallowed before he looked back down. “Can’t fuckin’ quit. Not gonna keep tryin’,” he bit out, his nostrils flaring. Hands still clenched around the box.

Quincey frowned at him, digging deeper, “I thought you were quitting for her.”

Quincey held back a sigh of frustration as Tora finally threw the gum back onto the bed in front of him, his hands returning to button his shirt most of the way up his chest. He could see his brother’s jaw working, his teeth gnashing together before he finally said, “callin’ it off.”

 _Calling it off? Calling what off?_ Quincey sat up, his eyes following the movements of Tora’s hands as he fixed the shirt, tucking it into his pants. _Was he talking about the smoking? Or Poppylan?_

“What? The fuck are ya starin’ at.” He glared at Quincey as he adjusted his cuffs and Quincey felt his face crumpling toward the center of his nose at the thought that Tora might try to shut her out. The woman he’d admitted to loving. His brother, the Tiger of Ares Street, _loved_ this woman. And more than that—he’d admitted it to his brother, knowing full well how much of a hopeless romantic he was. How excited that would make him.

“But you love her.”

Quincey watched as Tora’s eyelashes fluttered, his jaw clenching as he swallowed, nodding once as he finished tucking in the back of his shirt. He let out an exhale, his hands moving to zip up the front of the pants, his voice quieter, like he’d thought a lot about this, had already made up his mind. “She’s gonna get hurt one way or another. Least this way, she’ll live.”

As Tora moved to adjust his collar, Quincey shook his head, his brows pulling down to his eyes. That was absurd—she wasn’t a child, she had the right to make up her own mind. Had Tora learned _nothing_ from all those hours of beta-reading? Independence—independence and trust, were the foundation of everything in a relationship. Besides, it’s not like she’d simply disappear from his life if he chose to _call it off._ “Bullshit.” Tora’s head snapped up, his amber eyes on fire as he narrowed them at the look on his brother’s face. Just as he opened his mouth in a snarl, Quincey cut him off, “she’s my editor and you’re my bodyguard. Not like either of those things are changing.”

Tora moved quickly—Quincey was familiar with how fast the man could be, but damn, it’d been a while since he’d moved _that_ fast, like water rushing in. “Then get a new fuckin’ editor, ya stupid fuck,” he growled, reaching one of his hands out like a claw toward his brother’s neck. Quincey leapt off the mattress, hopping around to the other side of the bed, his eyes darting around. He could always climb over the bed to get to the door, he thought—glancing back as Tora rounded the corner—but he was sure Tora would beat him there. “What the fuck don’t ya understand about how dangerous—”

““Well, I, for one, quite like the arrangement,” Quincey interrupted, “so spare me the egoistic savior bullshit.” He quickly grabbed one of the pillows up off the bed and wielded it in front of him, angling the plush barrier between his face and Tora’s fists. He was _not_ looking to get beat tonight, especially right before he had to make a public appearance. “Distancing yourself from her isn’t going to change the fact that she now has contacts in the clan whether you like it or not.” Quincey felt his heel hit the wall behind him, and he looked over at the bed, not sure if he had enough time to scoot across it now. “It’s just going to break her heart.” Quincey gulped, knowing that, if he _was_ going to get punched, this was what would provoke it, “you’re being a coward.” He flinched inwardly at the words as they left his mouth, knowing full well his brother was anything but a coward.

Quincey felt a stab of guilt as he watched the pain tear through Tora’s eyes before it was immediately replaced by rage, his footsteps impossibly light on the floor as he rounded the bed, raising his arm, his voice ripping from his throat, “the fuck do ya know—”

 _Oh shit_. Quincey raised the pillow in front of his face, his other heel hitting the wall, saying the one thing he knew would stop—or at least pause—his brother’s advance, “she’s the strawberry girl! From Moonbright!” he cried, squeezing his eyes shut against the other side of the pillow, “she’s the strawberry girl!”

Quincey heard Tora trip, felt the weight of his stumble against the floor, his shoulders braced by his ears as he listened to his brother take a couple deep breaths. He swallowed, waiting, watching Tora’s bare feet against the floor, his toes pressed so firmly to the ground that his nails were white. After a moment, when it seemed like the punch wasn’t coming, Quincey lowered the pillow slightly, peering up over the soft material and meeting Tora’s dumbfounded gaze, his amber eyes wide, wet. Disbelieving. Quincey could change that, though, he thought to himself, lowering the pillow to his chest, “we tracked her down—me and Gyu.” He paused, rolling his eyes at what he imagined Gyu would say if he’d heard him say that, “well, Gyu did the heavy-lifting.” Quincey took a breath, his eyes flicking around Tora’s face, down to the hands that had fallen limp against his sides, “but we found her name.”

He watched as Tora’s eyebrows pulled together, shaking his head slightly, “Quince—”

No. He was not letting this man self-sabotage, was not going to let him single-handedly ruin the night Quincey had planned specifically for him. “Family name Wilkes.” Tora inhaled sharply, his eyes glued to Quincey’s. Good, that was a good sign. “Poppy’s from Moonbright, right? She said so the other day, talking about some special cakes, a bakery there.” He tilted his head slightly, shoulders still a little drawn up to his ears, ready to move quickly if something set Tora off. “Poppylan Wilkes?”

Tora didn’t move. Other than the slight movements of his throat with each swallow, a small shake of his head to himself, he hadn’t moved at all. Quincey studied his face, growing worried, could see his brother slipping away again as the man glanced down at his hand, as though separate from his own body.

“No.” When Tora didn’t react at all, didn’t even acknowledge that he’d heard him, Quincey lunged across the space, clamping his hand around Tora’s forearm, dropping the pillow onto the bed and bringing his other hand up to his shoulder. “I see what you’re doing, and it’s not happening on my watch. Nope!” He took another step closer to his brother until there was almost no space between them, their feet practically touching. “I swear, Tora, if you self-sabotage—”

Quincey breathed a sigh of relief as Tora’s arms came up, easily breaking away as he clicked his teeth, “fuck off, Quince.” He walked away, back around the bed and out the door of the bedroom as he adjusted his collar. Quincey blinked a couple times, alone in the room. _What’d just happened? Was he still going to the party? Was he still quitting smoking? Was he giving up on his shot at love?_ He quickly scrambled around the bed, picking up the Nicorette and the blazer Tora had left behind, hurrying after him down the hall and following him around toward the living room. His brother was looking around the room, the couch, facing the large floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city, his back vulnerable. Quincey didn’t think twice—he took aim and chucked the jacket at him, hitting Tora in the head.

“Goddammit, Quince,” he growled. “Fuckin’ drop it.” Tora whirled around, grabbing the jacket from where it’d clung to the back of his neck, “ya wrong. And besides,” he leveled a glare across the room as Quincey gulped, “ya fuckin’ coerced that shit out of me with ya fuckin’ birthday shot and then ya went and ran ya damn mouth to fuckin’ Ronzo.” The man had a point, he’d give him that. But still. He watched as Tora shook out the jacket, pulling an arm through the sleeve. “Ya’ve done enough, the two of ya.”

So he was still self-sabotaging. Quincey clenched his jaw, steeling himself to state the obvious, knowing full well it was something his brother didn’t believe, “Tora, you deserve to be hap—”

At that, Tora roared unlike any sound he’d ever heard him make before, and Quincey took a step back. “I DON’T DESERVE _SHIT_ , QUINCE, AND YA FUCKIN’ KNOW IT!” The man heaved a breath before continuing, “I’m a fuckin’ monster, couldn’t even tell ya how many k—” Tora choked on whatever he’d been about to say, Quincey watching in horror from across the room as Tora’s face collapsed in on itself a moment before he fell back onto the couch, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes as he took deep breaths through his nose, pushing the air past his lips. The rest of the apartment was deathly quiet, just the sound of Tora’s ragged breathing as he tried to calm himself and the sound of Quincey’s own heartbeat pulsing heavy in his ears. The city lights punctured the dim light of the room, blues and red soft along the furniture, casting his brother’s all-black form in hazy color, his damp bun shining, almost purple. Quincey watched him for a minute, unsure how much time he needed to decompress, to really be able to hear him. He walked toward the couch slowly, turning the Nicorette over in his hands nervously as he sat down beside him, his knee grazing Tora’s as he leaned forward to place the box on the floor between his feet. Quincey leaned his elbows on his knees, slightly mirroring Tora’s posture, splaying his hands out in the air in front of him, looking at his fingers before connecting his two hands together, locking them tight so that his knuckles interlocked, crushing into each other. He waited.

After a couple minutes, when Tora’s breathing had evened out and his shoulders had fallen away from his ears, Quincey spoke. “I don’t know why, and I don’t know how, but I’ve got this feeling, Tora.” He shook his head, looking over at the place where Tora’s left eye met the heel of his palm. He watched as the man’s jaw twitched once, huffing slightly as he continued, “call it an _instinct_ , if that makes it more believable for you.” Something tactical, something the man understood, believed in. _Instinct, pfft_. Even though it was the same damn thing. Quincey nudged his knee against his brother’s, watching as Tora lifted his head slightly to peer at him from the corner of his eye, listening. “In my _gut_. I know you don’t believe in the stars and stuff…” Quincey trailed off, watching as Tora’s eye closed again. To be fair, he’d known that one was a leap, knew what Tora thought of astrology, but it had to be said. _After all, it was like the universe was bringing them together_ , he thought. He swallowed, thinking of the horoscope he’d read that morning, having once again checked the app like it might tell him exactly where Tora was and whether he was okay, his worry caught in his throat. He shifted on the couch, digging his phone from his pocket and opening the astrology app, clicking on Tora’s horoscope and reading, “ _you come from somewhere broken, yet you stand_. And before you shoot it down,” he tapped his foot against Tora’s, thinking of all the times Tora had written off a horoscope with the excuse that it belonged to Quincey, “it’s not mine—I made one for you.” He frowned, admitting, “A little less accurate than mine since I don’t know what time and where exactly you were born…” he trailed off as he realized this might be a sore subject, quickly changing tact. He’d just have to spell it out for the man, since he clearly was still struggling just to stay in the moment. Quincey turned to face him, angling his thighs toward his brother, “just because you were dealt a terrible hand in life doesn’t mean you have to condemn yourself to a life of misery.” He watched as Tora clenched his jaw. “You don’t have to be alone. You’ve found someone who might just be your person.” Anticipating what Tora might say, he went on, “it may be a coincidence that you two met when you were kids. But I don’t think it’s a coincidence you met again as adults.” Quincey’s mouth fell open around a gasp—they were just like all the main characters in his books, brought together by fate at first, but staying together through choice— _that’s_ what the couple was missing in the new novel. “Star-crossed,” he murmured, his hands reaching for the bullet journal on the coffee table before he stopped himself— _not the time_. _Tora. He needs you._ Quincey sighed to himself—his brother seemed less hostile. Perhaps warming to the idea of pursuing happiness, of chasing Poppy, of being able to be with her without hating himself for it. Still, he didn’t want to pressure the man into a forever-situation if that’s not what he wanted. He reached down, grabbing the box of gum and extending it toward Tora, meeting his eyes, “I know it’s still early, and maybe she’s not, you know,” Quincey searched for a word other than _soulmate_ or _your person_ , knowing how Tora felt about those, finally settling on _the one_. “But she clearly makes you happy and vice versa for sure.” He paused, letting his eyes flick back and forth between his brother’s unflinching amber stare. “So, don’t miss your chance.”

He waited, hoping with every ounce of his energy, imagining the very universe rising up through his feet and out his fingers, willing Tora to take the damn box. He watched as his brother’s brow furrowed, his nostrils flaring. Some kind of resolve stealing across his features before he reached out, taking the Nicorette. Quincey bit back a grin, willing himself to remain silent—he knew very well they were on thin ice, the chances of him messing this up entirely were still quite high. And Gyu would kill him if he did.

Tora unwrapped the box, reading over the instructions before pulling out one of the smaller packs and popping a piece from the foil into his mouth, chewing slowly, unable to stop his lips from pulling in disgust. He glanced over at Quincey, making eye contact, “the fuck ya lookin’ at.” Tora seemed focused on whatever he was doing to the gum in his mouth, so Quincey didn’t respond, tried not to move a single muscle. He was rewarded a few moments later when Tora huffed, “thanks.”

He nodded and, thinking it best to distract the grumpy man, gestured toward the kitchen. “I cleaned your plant.” Tora’s eyes immediately found the little pot on the counter, his face revealing something like relief, like he could breathe again as he stood. “You might want to bleach it, though.” Quincey watched from the couch, not wanting his movements to startle his brother, knowing he was still very much in a fragile state. Easily set off and, worse, easily dissuaded from going to the party, from allowing himself some bit of happiness. “You never told me where you got it,” he called after him, watching as Tora moved to the plant, running his fingers over the leaves.

“Was a gift.” As he said it, Quincey watched his shoulders relax, his expression returning to a state of neutrality before he turned to look at him, quickly pulling his hand away, his jaw clenching again. Quincey sighed, knowing where this was going if he let him cycle again.

“I’m getting Claude and Scharch to drive me,” he said, walking toward the door. “Take the weekend off. I’ve told Dad that you’ll be working for me, so you don’t have to worry about him either,” Quincey kept his mouth in a firm line, but from Tora’s frown, it was clear he hadn’t kept the smile off the rest of his face. Was it so bad that he just wanted his brother to be happy? To finally be reunited with Strawberry Girl, the one person he’d said made him feel like he could be a good person? Every time Quincey thought of it, his heart broke into a million pieces. Had he failed him that much? How alone his brother must feel…Quincey crouched down, pulling on his loafers and catching sight of the glower on Tora’s face. No self-sabotaging today. He held up his hand, standing and taking his phone out, pulling up his messages to Poppy.

@Quincey: Hi, honey. Car just left, sorry for the delay. Should arrive in a minute.

He looked back up at Tora who was glaring at him. “I told my sweet editor that a car would be picking her up, don’t leave her hanging, okay?” He smiled slightly at the softening of Tora’s expression when he’d mentioned Poppy, whirling away toward the door and grabbing a set of keys to the apartment before he pointed to the others. “Take the Lexus for as long as you need. I’ll text you the address. See you soon, honey,” he opened the door to the apartment, taking one last look at his brother, still standing by the kitchen, before blowing a kiss to him. Just before he closed the door, he caught Tora roll his eyes.

Quincey didn’t bother locking the door—Tora should be leaving soon anyway. He pulled out his phone, checking the time and smiling softly at the notification from Cordy. He took a shaky breath as he stepped onto the elevator, opening up their chain and glancing at the last message he’d sent her about an hour before Tora’d gotten home.

@Quincey: I’m just worried, you know. Everything needs to be perfect 😭

@Sugarplum 🐆 🥰: You’ve got this, Blondie.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself as the elevator sunk to the first floor, closing his eyes and letting the feeling of weightlessness pull his stomach back up from where it’d knotted against his pelvis. As he made his way down through the lobby of the first floor and out the front entrance of the building, he willed himself to act like his father. Over the years, he’d developed quite the knack for channeling that cold, calculating spirit when he needed it, the deadly, impersonal stare—mostly whenever his father called him in as a show of unified family strength in clan matters, but there were the occasional times that he had to throw his weight around in his life as well. Usually, though, he had Tora providing him with moral and physical support. Here, it was two-on-one, he thought with a sinking feeling, as he approached the car, rapping once on the passenger window where Claude sat. _You’ve got this, Blondie._ Quincey leveled a stare through the glass, until Claude clenched his jaw, opening the door and climbing out.

Quincey brushed past him, climbing down into the seat and slamming the door behind him, not bothering to buckle. His father wouldn’t either, needed to channel that energy—death-defying, though he could practically hear Tora’s grumbling about safety in the back of his mind. He turned slowly, keeping his face icy as he stared at Scharch. When Claude had settled in the backseat, huffing once, Quincey spoke, “go.” Scharch turned his head back to the windshield, auburn hair flopping over his right eye as he took a deep breath, pulling away from the curb and clenching his jaw wordlessly—Quincey knew the man was smart, cunning. Had heard enough from Tora about his sick tendencies, the way he played with his victims, enjoyed the chase, the torture of it. To be frank, it turned Quincey’s stomach over just thinking about it—he couldn’t imagine witnessing it like Tora had numerous times. Scharch was a survivalist, he knew, climbing the ranks in the clan to feed his obsession with violence—he wasn’t going to jeopardize that over anything stupid like openly defying the big boss’s son—his future boss if he played his cards right. Claude, on the other hand…Quincey glanced at him in the rearview mirror, the piercings glinting in the lights of the buildings as they passed through the financial district toward the bar. Claude didn’t know what was good for him—hopped up on power as a fresh lieutenant, one of Martin’s most trusted lackeys. Always pushing the boundaries, testing those who ranked above him. It was a wonder he was still alive, then again, Martin seemed to like that about him, the bullheadedness. It was similar, Quincey thought, to the way that his father admired Tora. Except Tora wasn’t stupid—he had a survivalist streak in him, too, and for good reason. Quincey swallowed, the place across his eye where he knew his scar was, twinging at the memory, some kind of phantom pain. The difference, Quincey thought, was that Tora kept his head down, hadn’t chosen to climb the ranks of the clan, content to appear as the muscle, though, anyone with half a brain knew he was much more than that. Once of the big boss’s closest and most trusted men.

As they pulled up outside the bar, Quincey cracked his neck, squaring his shoulders as he set his jaw—he only had to channel his father for a few more minutes. Just a few more minutes and he’d be with friends, with Cordy. And his plan for Tora would run smoothly, he was sure, his only regret was that Gyu-bear couldn’t make it. The man was always working, he thought with a sigh before glancing up at the building where he thought he could see the haze from the rooftop fires against the evening sky, though, that was ridiculous, he realized. The building was far too tall. “I won’t be needing you anymore,” Quincey was surprised at how clear his voice sounded, unwavering as he addressed the men. “Tora will be here shortly. Report back to Martin. Or do…” he waved his hand flippantly, his gaze cold as he turned to stare at Claude in the mirror, “whatever it is that you do.”

“What, we don’t even get a drink?” Claude narrowed his eyes from the backseat, holding Quincey’s stare for a moment before looking away from the blonde man’s unflinching gaze.

Quincey let the silence hang, the tension practically crackling in the small space of the luxury vehicle. Only when Claude finally let his eyes flick back to the mirror did Quincey speak, his voice low, deadly. “You’d do well to remember who you’re talking to. Lieutenant.” He leaned forward slowly, wrapping his fingers around the handle of the door and glancing toward the door to the building—just a few more moments and he’d be okay. “Leave, I don’t want to see you two again.” From the corner of his eye, he saw Scharch turn his head to look at him in confusion. Good, let them wonder whether he meant that indefinitely. “Are we clear, gentlemen?” he asked, using his father’s preferred term of casual dominance.

“Understood,” they both said quickly.

Quincey nodded once, stepping from the vehicle, not daring to look back over his shoulder as he approached the building, his shoulders only relaxing once he heard the tires pull away from the curb.

*

Quincey leaned against the bar, his head thrown back on a laugh as Cordy touched his arm playfully, “you know honestly,” she smirked, leaning her head conspiratorially toward Jacob, “shit like Bora Bora, all those beaches. Overrated.”

Quincey scoffed, taking a sip of his wine as he glanced back toward the fires behind them where he’d watched Tora and Poppy disappear to a couple minutes ago. He’d hoped that Tora would order some food, knowing the man probably hadn’t eaten in days, that he probably hadn’t taken care of himself at all while he’d been gone. But it seemed like they only had two glasses with them. “You just fundamentally misunderstand the meaning of _chill_ , sugarplum,” he smiled around the top of his glass, as she squeezed his elbow lightly, laughing.

“Oh, you can _definitely_ chill on a mountain,” she said, taking a sip of her martini as Lee the bartender, who was wiping down a glass, and Jacob watched them with bemusement, Jacob’s face a bit pink from the long island Quincey’d recommended—the man needed to loosen up, had been so tense after the drive with Tora and Poppy.

“I think you mean _freeze_ , hun,” he smiled, extending a finger toward Jacob and Lee like he was letting them in on a secret, “our last weekend getaway, Cordy said—what did you say,” he tilted his head, glancing up at her, smiling at the warmth in her blue eyes as she rolled them lightly, the feeling of her thumb stroking his arm.

“It’d be a view like no other,” she supplied, smirking into her drink.

“Riiiight, said I should pack for a view like no other.” He waved his hand in the air toward Jacob and Lee, looping them back into the conversation, “so here I was picturing sand stretching along a horizon, the setting sun, crystal clear water, bottomless champagne, those tubs on the beach, right, like the commercials…” he let his voice trail off as he took another sip, “I only packed sandals and sunblock.” The three of them laughed, Jacob’s drink sloshing over the rim of his glass as Quincey adjusted his feet to avoid the liquid on the floor. “Next thing I know, we’re strapping on helmets and harnesses—she gave me an ice pick, Jacob. Lee, would you believe that?” He widened his eyes, his mouth open as the men laughed harder. “An ice pick!”

“And how would you describe the view from the top, Blondie,” Cordy prodded his arm as Quincey sighed dramatically.

He could give her this. “Like no other.”

The other two laughed as he glanced back over to the fire, his eyes widening and breath catching in excitement at the look of open desire on Tora’s face as Poppy removed her jacket. Oh, things were going better than he’d ever allowed himself to hope. He turned to Lee, seeing his opening and taking it—two birds. “Lee, could I get someone to bring over some food to the couple by the fire,” he said, hoping that Poppy would get his brother to eat. Though, Quincey bit his lip, thinking. Tora would probably be able to tell he was fussing from afar—best to distract him. “Have them say he looks a little famished,” he grinned, knowing Tora would interpret it figuratively, though he also meant it literally.

Lee nodded, passing along the instructions to a server who walked a platter of appetizers over to the fire as Quincey looked on, practically giddy at the way his brother’s own body was betraying the way he clearly felt for the tiny editor sitting beside him, tuning out from the conversation between Cordy and Jacob and sipping his wine. As the server set the tray down on the table, he watched Tora lean forward quickly, his eyes shooting daggers around the server, nostrils flaring as he met his brother’s stare across the roof. Quincey waved, smirking into his glass of wine before turning back to the conversation—he’d check in a little bit to see if the man had eaten, but for now, he needed to pretend like he was ignoring them so Tora could let his guard down again.

*

“Oh, I hadn’t even realized…” Quincey trailed off, taking a quick headcount of the guests around the bar, glancing over at the fire where Poppy was pressed up against Tora, his head angled down toward her. “I think we’re all here,” he bit back a smile as his eyes pulled back to look at his brother, how relaxed he seemed on the couch beside her, his legs splayed open, reaching up to hold her face for a moment before his hand fell to his leg. Quincey choked back a squeal as he watched Poppy move her hand to hold Tora’s. It was time to give them an out—he knew Poppy would probably want to stay until she’d at least talked to the rest of the guests, and the two had spent the entire evening off to themselves, canoodling by the fire. He twirled his finger in the air once, making eye contact with Cordy who nodded, following him toward the fire as the rest of the party took the cue in stride, everyone migrating across the roof to join Tora and Poppy. Quincey grinned again at the sight of Tora’s fingers intertwined with Poppy’s, their hands resting so casually, so naturally on his lap as he murmured something to her.

“Oooh, looks cozy,” Quincey drawled as he moved to flop down on the couch across from them, waiting until the rest of the party settled around the fire, Cordy’s fingers in his hair, her warmth beside him as she lounged on the arm of the couch. “Honey, this is Cordy,” he placed a hand on her knee as he gestured to Poppy across the fire.

“Pleasure, I’ve heard a lot about you,” she said—Quincey could hear the smile in her voice without having to look up at her. She certainly had, he hadn’t been able to stop talking her ear off about Poppy and Tora once he’d actually met the tiny editor.

It was time, though, he could see it written across his brother’s face, the need to leave. After the last couple of days on his own, doing—Quincey shuddered, remembering the stench of the blood, the way it’d caked Tora’s skin. Well, he knew Tora needed a break, some time away from everyone except the one person he knew his brother actually wanted to spend time with. The little woman pressed against his side. Quincey held up his wine. “I don’t usually make toasts at parties—” he broke off a second later at the snorts from across the fire as Tora rolled his eyes. Poppy shot him a look before turning to gaze at Quincey, an apologetic look on her face as she nodded for him to continue. Quincey clicked his teeth. “Thank you, Tora, for that. As I was _saying_ ,” his brother shot him an incredulous look, and Quincey glared back across the flames, _I’m doing this for_ you _, you oaf._ He took a breath, _keep it short, keep it short._ “I don’t usually make toasts at parties, but this is a special moment that simply must be commemorated. Erdene, Jacob,” Quincey smiled at them, “I’ve never felt so welcomed before in an editorial room. You make such a wonderful team and I’m so excited that I get to work with you.” He nodded at them as Erdene tilted her head to the side on a soft _aw_. “Poppy, dear,” Quincey turned to look at Poppy, still snuggled against his brother’s side. “You are, without a doubt, one of the most personable editors I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with and I couldn’t be more excited to see what the future holds for us.” He smiled warmly at her—the way her eyebrows had drawn up, her eyes watering in the light of the fire—before glancing at Tora who was watching her with a fierce look of pride. “I mean, you must be special—” he joked, remembering what Gyu-bear had told him the other day, knowing it’d get a rise out of Tora, “not just anyone gets to drive Tiger Boy’s car,” he held a hand up to his mouth as his brother’s eyes widened—it almost looked like they were on fire in the warm light of the flames. Quincey felt Cordy laughing by his side as he held his glass up again, “so, here’s to the team. May we have a long and fruitful relationship.”

Cordy turned to lean across Quincey, asking Damien a question, who still looked incredibly uncomfortable as he perched on the seat beside Erdene, his eyes flicking to Tora every couple of moments. Quincey followed his gaze, watching as Tora stood, helping Poppy into her jacket. He felt his lungs fluttering with excitement— _were they leaving together?_ But then Tora sat back down. Quincey huffed softly, but smiled to himself a moment later as he watched Tora stare after her longingly. No way were they _not_ leaving together.

“So, you letting anyone drive your car now?” Cordy smirked at Tora across the fire as she stroked her fingers through Quincey’s hair again, “or just cute editors?” He couldn’t help but laugh—sugarplum had a way of getting under his brother’s skin in a way that was nearly unmatched by anyone else.

“Ya got someone to drive ya home, Quince? Cause it ain’t me,” he growled, rolling his eyes at Cordy. “Ya’ll probably fall clean off Cordelia’s fuckin’ bike.”

Quincey huffed, rolling his eyes, his blood running cold at the voice that spoke from off to the side, growing louder as the man approached, “that’d be my job.” Scharch nodded, meeting Quincey’s gaze. _What the hell was he doing here?_ He’d made it clear that they weren’t to come up, that they were done with their responsibilities to him. If they ruined this…

“Scharch. Thought we had an understanding,” Quincey said coldly, trying to keep his face neutral in front of Erdene and Jacob, the ice biting into his voice as he vaguely registered Tora taking off from the couch, headed toward the bar.

“Mm, we did,” the man said, his blue eyes looking otherworldly in the light of the fire—ominous. “Conflicting orders, though. A word?” he nodded toward the elevator, away from the rest of the party.

Though it would be wise to move Scharch away from Jacob and Erdene, he also didn’t want to give the impression that he could be ordered around, that he didn’t have the upper hand. “What is it,” he said, reclining back on the couch as Cordy’s hand came to rest on his shoulder. Scharch huffed softly as he moved so that he could still see Quincey around her. The language of dominance, he’d learned from the best, letting his father’s stare fall across his face.

“He’s requested your presence.”

Quincey felt his heart leap to his throat as his stomach bottomed out against this pelvis. Cordy squeezed his shoulder, bringing him back to himself as he took a sharp inhale. Of course. The only person with more power, the only person whose orders outranked his own. The only reason why Martin’s men had returned. Quincey glanced over toward the bar, fighting the impulse to widen his eyes at what he saw as he quickly sat up, trying to angle his body in between Jacob and the image of Tora, the man’s hand like a vice around Claude’s face as he drank a glass of water. What in the hell was he doing? Luckily, Quincey realized with a glance at the other couch, meeting Damien’s eyes briefly, Tora’s man was occupying Erdene, her legs across his lap as she kissed him. Jacob seemed inebriated enough not to really care, was watching them absently, before turning his head to look at the others. _Shit_.

“Go, I’ll be right down.” Quincey nodded toward Scharch, dismissing him as he turned back to look at Jacob, quickly engaging him in conversation, forcing laughter, too loud, as Cordy helped rescue the conversation. A few minutes later, when Quincey glanced back toward the bar, they’d all left—Claude and Scharch, Tora and Poppy. He really hoped they hadn’t run into Poppy again, though, he realized with a sinking feeling, that’s probably exactly why Tora had booked it to the bar, had held Claude in a death grip in front of civilians. He was usually so much more careful.

He leaned to Cordy as she listened to Jacob babble about something. “I need to go see my dad, raincheck on tonight?”

She squeezed his shoulder, once, her smile hardening as she pretended to keep her attention on Jacob, muttering from the side of her mouth, “you’ve got this, Blondie.” Quincey swallowed, shoving down the well of emotions as he stood, swiping his thumb across her shoulder once before exiting toward the elevator—he knew she’d wrap up without him, make some excuse for him. Understood what a summons from his father meant.

*

“Quinceton, how nice of you to indulge me.” Quincey swallowed, nodding his head as he sat down in the chair beside his father’s desk, he could hear his heart thrumming in his ears. He settled his palms on his knees, hoping the fabric of his pants would absorb some of the cold sweat that always broke out when he was in the man’s presence.

“Of course.”

Vincent swirled the contents of his scotch, leaning back in the other large leather seat in front of the desk that he’d just sat down in, crossing his legs so that his foot swung beside Quincey’s shin. “How was the…professional engagement,” he said lowly, using the phrase Quincey had used just a few nights ago in the next room over from his father’s private study.

He licked his lips, eyeing his father warily before speaking, “uneventful. Like I said, it was merely a social gathering with my new publishers, a chance to meet everyone.”

Vincent nodded his head, his foot bobbing steadily as he watched his son. “New publishers,” he murmured, “what was wrong with the old ones? Do I need to send a message?” Quincey’s breath caught—his father had never cared about his artistic goals, and now he was threatening a shakedown on his behalf?

He felt something like ice dripping down his neck as he pressed his sweaty palms firmer to his legs, “no, this team had an interesting proposal, a good offer I took them up on. They’re quite wonderful.” He held his breath, hoping the focus on the new team would draw his father’s attention from the old.

Vincent nodded again, tilting his head. “Well, that’s fantastic, Quinceton,” he said finally, thinking for a moment. “We should throw a proper celebration—more than a professional engagement, what do you think?”

Quincey pressed his tongue into the edge of his bottom teeth, forcing a small smile across his face, felt so tight. “Wouldn’t want to trouble—”

“It’s no trouble,” his father interjected, taking a sip of his drink and watching his son over the glass, taking in every movement of his face.

“Great,” Quincey nearly choked on the word. This was exactly what Tora’d feared. Stupid, it’d all be so stupid. He’d been careless, mentioning his job. Why had he mentioned it at all? And the party? It could have happened at any time, he could have waited. Or he could have followed Gyu’s advice. A quite conversation with Tora to set them up. Why hadn’t he listened?

“I called you here tonight for a different reason, though.”

Quincey waited a moment, raising his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“As much as I enjoy hearing about your creative pursuits, Quinceton,” he laughed quietly. Cold. “We have business to discuss. Namely, Tora.”

Quincey focused on his breathing, he was out of practice with yoga, but the breathing exercises had helped in regulating his anxiety. He shifted his hands slightly, hoping to avoid creating wet spots on his pants, which would be a dead giveaway of his weakness, his fear.

“I indulged your party knowing he’d need some kind of release after the fulfillment of his task this week. Even the best fighters need time to recover between skirmishes,” he explained lightly, holding the glass up between his fingers, peering at the crystal design. “That being said, we can’t allow him to get distracted, especially not now. We need Goliath, his notebook, the evidence.” His eyes flicked to his son, holding his gaze as he brought the glass to his lips, taking a slow sip before lowering it to his lap. “We’re all doing our part, Quinceton,” he murmured, leaning forward. “And this is yours: you keep him on task.”

Quincey clenched his jaw before he could stop himself and watched as Vincent tilted his head. “He’s a dog, Quinceton. You would do well to remember that. We keep him on a leash, underfed. Enough to keep him hungry, to keep him loyal. Obedient.” His eyes bore into his son’s, unflinching as he continued, “encourage him when he needs it, yes. But don’t for a second forget his place. A dog. A good dog from years of training, conditioning. But a dog nonetheless,” he snarled. “For some reason, you seem to be under the impression that you are brothers, companions.” He shook his head as Quincey swallowed, unblinking, willing the tears back down his throat. “No. You are his master, Quinceton. Never forget that—he certainly won’t.”

Vincent stood, uncrossing his legs and placing the scotch back on the desk, walking to the door to the study and opening the door wide, which Quincey took as his cue to leave, his limbs stiff as he followed his father to the door. _His master_. “Keep him happy, he needs to be in order to perform to best of his ability. I need him sharp. Eyes on the prize, Quinceton,” he said, his voice thrumming with tension, “endgame, my son.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m on IG now @melarela1223 where I post WIPs and other random shit about Chasing Poppies ✨
> 
> I got halfway through writing ch. 31 of CP before the idea for this one-shot hit me like a train and I just had to get it out. Needless to say, I’m excited to get back to Fluff City 😅😅😅


End file.
